Mix Tape
by Suspicious Popsicle
Summary: A set of shorts to follow up and conclude the story begun in "Forte" and "Counterpoint."
1. Crash

A/N: Just a bit of dialogue between Yuri and Crash about monster movies and what to do when your roommate suddenly decides that he likes you.

This is a set of shorts written to follow up and finish the story started in "Forte" and "Counterpoint." I've had several up in my dreamwidth, and I'll be posting those every other day or so. I just finished up a few for the very end that have not been posted online yet, so the update schedule will slow a bit once I get to those, to allow for plenty of beta/edit time.

Disclaimer: Yuri & Flynn are originally from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

It was a small miracle that Crash had never put a single cigarette burn on the dingy old futon bed that filled most of a wall in his tiny bedroom. He had his arm stretched out behind Yuri along the back of the frame, a lit cigarette held between two fingers. The rest of him was slumped against the mass of pillows he'd shoved into the corner. His lanky build made him look as if he was about to slide right off onto the floor.

Across the room, a small TV was set up on top of an old wooden dresser decorated with stickers featuring a variety of metal band logos and one incongruous yellow submarine. The TV was hooked up to a PS2, currently playing one of Crash's numerous B-grade monster movie DVDs. The featured creature looked like a reject from a Saturday morning kid's show.

"I can see the strings," Yuri said.

"Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly." Grinning, Crash twiddled the fingers of his free hand and Yuri could practically see the animated arachnid puppeteer he was imitating.

Onscreen, the space invader from Planet X flapped its tentacles through the aid of the wire team manipulating the rubber suit. Yuri was pretty sure he could see their shadows in the shot.

"My roommate has a thing for me," he said.

"Yep." Crash took a drag from his cigarette then draped his arm along the top of the cushion again. "You didn't know?"

"You did?"

Crash just smiled, eyes focused on the movie. He couldn't quite pull off Judy's knowing smirk. His expression always ended up looking more like he was daring someone to call his bluff.

"Run, Hot Bikini Girl." He urged her on lazily as the camera cut to a close-up of the shrieking actress. "They never run. They just stand there screaming until they get captured. Then they scream until they get rescued."

"How'd you know about Flynn?"

"Wasn't hard to figure out. He doesn't like me."

"So?"

"Everyone likes me." He took one last pull off his cigarette, then leaned forward to stub it out in his ashtray.

"Not the manager at the Tea House."

"She likes me."

"She asked me to tell you to quit hanging around outside her restaurant. You scare the customers."

"Do not. They think I'm cute." He grinned briefly. "I hear 'em giggle."

Yuri let the conversation lapse. The space invader had managed to get the heroine wrapped up in several feet of what appeared to be some sort of industrial hose covered in nylon before he spoke up again.

"He said it straight to my face."

"Who said what now?" Crash didn't look away from the movie. He probably wasn't even really listening.

"Flynn. He said…."

He couldn't bring himself to repeat it. After Yuri had caught him talking to Estelle that morning, Flynn had just decided to go all in and ask him out on a _date_. It had been terrible, like watching a nervous grade schooler confess to his crush. Groaning, Yuri slumped over to lie on his side.

"This is such a pain in the ass," he muttered into the mattress.

"Shut up and watch the flick, then. It's about to get good."

"I need to figure out how to deal with this."

"Punch him."

Yuri laughed. If only it was that simple.

"We should make a movie," Crash suggested. "Punching the monsters always saves the day, and you're good at punching things. You think Judy would agree to be Hot Bikini Girl?"

"Real world problems, Crash."

"I don't know what you want from me, man. You don't wanna punch him, you don't wanna screw him…. If it's such a problem, kick him out."

"He's a good roommate, though."

"'Cept he wants your body."

"Yeah. Shut up."

"Hey, can't fault his taste." He tried to go back to the movie, but apparently Yuri had finally gotten him invested in the discussion. "Why's it bugging you so much?"

"Hell if I know. One day he hates my guts, then the next, he wants to be friends except—oops!—looks like that's not what he wanted after all."

"Not interested in another fuck buddy?"

Yuri rubbed a hand over his face. "Neither is he. Ever hear the phrase: 'blushing like a schoolgirl?'" Crash went ahead and started laughing his short, hyena-bark laugh—the one he used whenever some poor no-name actor got gobbled up in one of his old movies—as Yuri finished indignantly: "He's the only person I've ever seen actually _do_ that!"

"I bet it's just that you didn't see it coming, isn't it? He surprised you, and now you don't know what to do about him."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Settling more comfortably into the pillows, he smiled a little as he turned his attention back to the movie. "You should go make us dinner."

"It's your apartment. You do it."

"Come on. I bought stuff for stir-fry. Vegetables and everything."

"Then go make it."

Crash shoved Yuri's shoulder. "Come oooon. You make veggies taste good."

"What are you, a five year old?" He shoved back.

"My mama worries that I'm not eating right, so I told her I have a pretty little thing who cooks for me."

"Who are you calling _little_?"

"Have pity." He smirked. "It's either that, or admit you're hiding from your new admirer."

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "I'm not hiding."

"Oh yeah? You've never liked Monster Movie Monday. Either you're here out of the goodness of your heart to see that I eat a balanced dinner, or you're hiding."

He considered Crash and that stupid smirk of his for a moment before getting up off the futon. "You better be glad I'm in the mood for stir-fry."

"I love you, honey." He made mocking kissy noises at Yuri's back.

"Shove it."


	2. Homework

A/N: Vanessa Mae does an awesome version of the song Flynn plays. It was originally composed by Mike Batt. Definitely check that out.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

"But now I have a _remainder_!"

Karol's plaintive moan caught Flynn's attention just as he touched bow to strings, and he lowered his violin, listening curiously. The sharp crinkle of paper was actually loud enough to carry into his room, and he heard Yuri, sounding very much at his wit's end, ask: "What the hell's a remainder?"

"It's the leftover bit."

"Oh. I knew that."

"Yuri! This doesn't make sense!"

"Yeah, I see that. What do the directions say?"

"The same thing they've been saying for half an hour. We're doing something wrong!"

"We're doing what it told us to do."

"Then why's it coming out _wrong_?"

Yuri growled something that sounded like a string of profanities followed by the word: 'math.' Setting his violin back into its case, Flynn left his room behind and headed for the kitchen. It was the first time that he had been able to practice while Karol was over because, for once, he hadn't come to work on his drumming. Yet there Flynn was, abandoning his violin to go see what exactly had derailed Yuri's unexpected tutoring gig. They had done fine through literature, but it seemed even Yuri Lowell's surprisingly broad knowledge base wasn't enough to tackle that bane of high school students everywhere: mathematics.

Stepping quietly out of the hall, he saw them sitting at the dining room table, frowning down at an open textbook, pages of notes and problems spread out around them.

"Can I help?"

The question—or, perhaps more accurately, the announcement of his presence—startled Yuri. He did his best to hide his surprise, but it was a reminder that things were different between them, and not in a good way. He'd never startled Yuri before that unfortunate conversation with Estelle had forced Flynn to make an admission that had turned their slowly improving relationship into a whole new kind of awkward.

"Are you any good at math?"

Flynn had heard far too many blond jokes in his life to be offended at the doubt in Karol's tone. He sat down next to him and tried not to be hurt when Yuri immediately got up from the table.

"You guys have fun with that. I'm gonna make dinner."

"Whatcha makin'?"

"Sloppy Joes."

"Awesome!" Karol was halfway out of his seat when Yuri turned back and pointed.

"Sit. If you don't make the Honor Roll, your parents aren't going to let you stay in the band. I need my drummer."

Sighing gustily, Karol deflated back into his chair. He walked Flynn through the problem, drumming reflexively on the table the whole way through. When he sat back, he started in on the edge of the table with a second pencil until Flynn took them away. It didn't stop him, and Flynn gave up and tried to overlook the rhythmic beat of fingers against wood as he explained where things had gone wrong.

Yuri clattered about in the kitchen, easy enough to ignore at first, until he started humming to himself. It was "Contradanza," the piece Flynn had been practicing earlier that day, and the notes faded in and out while Yuri moved from one thing to another, browning meat and toasting buns, cutting up celery sticks and radishes for sides and pouring glasses of water. He didn't actually seem to be paying much attention to his humming, and the melody faltered and jumped, broken up by quiet 'da-da-da-da-dum's and rapid taps of fingertips on the countertop, or becoming a completely different song every now and again as he got sidetracked by particular phrases.

"He's storyboarding," Karol said.

"What?" Flynn hadn't realized he'd been staring, but he turned back to find himself on the end of one of the boastful grins Karol reserved for his band.

"That's what he calls it when he's working on a new song. He's putting different pieces together to see if anything fits right. Dragon Swarm'll have a new song in a week."

"Flattery will get you the biggest Sloppy Joe," Yuri said. "Wrap it up. Dinner's almost done."

They would have to continue after they'd eaten. For the time being, Flynn helped gather up books and papers, stacking them neatly, only to have Karol grab the whole pile and shove it carelessly into his messenger bag. Yuri brought the drinks to the table and sent them into the kitchen, offering up dinner buffet-style. They piled their sandwiches high and helped themselves to celery sticks and little death's head radishes. Yuri caught Flynn smiling crookedly at the rough skull faces he'd carved with a pairing knife and smirked as he popped one into his mouth.

"The metal version of radish rosettes?"

"Just a bit of inspiration gained from a road trip a while back." Yuri took his plate to the table and sat down across from Flynn.

Karol swallowed hard, already a third of the way through his sandwich. "Was that when you went to that holiday in Myorzo?"

"Got it in one."

"Holiday?"

"It's called the Day of the Dead," Karol enthused. "Sounds really morbid, right? It's supposed to be a celebration of people's ancestors, and Yuri says it's like this big giant party for the whole city, and there's music and parades and people paint their faces and get all dressed up and they have these little painted skulls _everywhere_!"

Flynn couldn't help smiling a little. "I think I might have heard of it." He looked to Yuri. "You've been?"

"Crash and I went. We were…between jobs at the time, and thought it would be fun to go on a road trip. It was just the two of us in this beat up old hatchback, and we broke down one town short of making it to Myorzo.

"I didn't think there _were_ any towns around Myorzo. From what I've heard, it's out in the middle of nowhere."

"It is. Saying we were in a town was being generous. The place had a gas station, a biker bar, and a tattoo parlor."

"Please tell me this story doesn't end with you getting some regrettable tattoo."

"Depends on what you mean by 'regrettable.'" He smirked around a celery stick until it became clear that he wasn't going to be getting a rise out of Flynn. "I didn't get a tattoo. I was trying to fix the car, and Crash wandered off. He came back maybe half an hour later with a beer in each hand and about half a dozen bikers all around him, and he just grins at me and goes: 'They have accepted me as one of their own!'

"At that point I didn't know what was going on with the car anyway, and the guy at the gas station said he couldn't get someone in to look at it till the next morning, so I just said 'fuck it' and went and had a beer with them.

"We stood around and talked for a while. Cool guys. I think Crash still texts one of them. Anyway, we got to talking about the Day of the Dead and caught their interest enough that they offered to give us a ride over and back."

"And you accepted?"

"Sure, why not?" He scoffed at the doubtful look on Flynn's face. "It was fine. We went down for the holiday, partied for a while, got ourselves some of those little sugar skulls where they write your name on them, and headed back. Crash and I slept in the car and drove home the next day after the mechanic had fixed it up. End of story."

The way he tore into his dinner as soon as he'd finished made it pretty clear that Yuri was done talking, and Flynn wondered what had set him off. Was that what it had been like when he had first moved in? Had Yuri constantly been trying to guess where his flares of temper had come from? If that was so, it certainly made sense why they had been finding it so hard to get along. They'd had little breakthroughs, but it never seemed to be enough to get rid of the tensions between them. What made it all so much worse was that, had circumstances been different, Flynn was sure they could have been friends.

The rest of dinner passed quietly. Even Karol sensed the strange atmosphere and kept glancing back and forth nervously. Flynn wasn't sure what to tell him, and only shrugged, trying to let him know that he didn't get it either.

Wordlessly, Yuri insisted on handling the dishes afterward, leaving Flynn to go over the math problem one more time. Karol seemed to understand well enough by the time the kitchen was set to rights, and Flynn returned to his room, saving Yuri the trouble of hovering uncertainly just outside the dining room.

He went back to his practice, half-listening to the murmur of voices during the occasional pauses between notes. It wasn't half an hour later that he heard the front door open and a few minutes after that, Karol called out a goodbye to him, along with thanks for his help. It made him smile to know that one of the mistakes made from the worst of his anger at his mother's betrayal had been so readily put right. Karol had forgiven him with a simple apology and Yuri's relatively understated encouragement. If only it was so easy to make things right with his capricious, metalhead roommate.

Footsteps, creaks and groans, shuffling papers, the clink and scrape of small objects being moved about were the sounds of Yuri's restless movements throughout the house. Eventually, he retreated to his bedroom at the end of the hall, the door that was never locked and only rarely fully shut. Yuri genuinely seemed to like people and was almost never by himself. It was something Flynn hadn't actually realized until he'd begun noticing Yuri the person, rather than all the little aggravations and rejections he had represented in those early days. It didn't come as much of a surprise, therefore, when some time later, Flynn heard a knock on his door.

"Come in."

Yuri didn't actually enter, at first. He stuck his head in, looking around the room rather than at its occupant. He was in a strange mood, not quite frowning, but lacking that charge that he had about him when looking for a fight.

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to know what that song was that you were playing earlier."

"It's called 'Contradanza.' Would you like me to play it for you?"

He hesitated, then nodded and stepped fully into the room, Anemone in one hand. "Yeah."

Flynn waved him to a seat on the bed, but Yuri walked right past him. The computer chair was currently holding a short stack of books, a messenger bag, and the violin case, and Yuri didn't even bother trying to empty it off. He took a seat on the corner of Flynn's desk and looked at him expectantly.

When he'd first heard "Contradanza" years ago, Flynn had never thought he'd be sharing a house with a metalhead. Going to see Depth Charge perform at ZaFest had reminded him of the song, and it had seemed to him that Yuri would probably like it. He hadn't had a chance to play it for him over the days since then, but he'd been practicing, hoping…hoping for some way to make a connection. Yuri had reached out to him when Flynn hadn't even realized he needed it. He wanted to be the one to reach out this time, if only to try and fix the mess he'd made.

The song was fast and sharp, the notes practically leaping over each other to be free from the strings. The energy in it flowed back into him, making him smile as he played, swaying with the music. It was one of those songs that reached into people and called for them to move, to nod their heads or tap their feet or _dance_. No one possessed of a soul should be able to sit still while listening to it. It was quick and graceful, an eager smile, a dancer's leap, an exclamation of pure wonder. It was something he'd been wanting to share with Yuri, and when he heard the first, hesitant notes rise from Anemone to join him, he opened his eyes, smiling brightly in invitation.

Yuri found the rhythm of the song and strengthened it, the deeper notes of his guitar soft and steady beneath the high, clear voice of the violin. Flynn urged him on, switching up phrases and adding flourishes until Yuri's playing took on some of that spark and picked up the pace. Flynn let him lead, let him slip a little further into the music, then turned the notes aside from their expected progression, improvising and forcing Yuri to catch up.

He saw the tiny grin on Yuri's face, saw how his eyes had lit up and how he was no longer slouching, but leaning forward into the song. Yuri's nimble fingers flew over the strings, the pick a tiny blur of color as he grabbed the notes he wanted and tossed them into the mix as fast as he could. Echoes of Flynn's playing rose to the surface and fell away again as Yuri borrowed pieces of it to work into his own riffs.

There was no awkwardness between them as they played, no tension, no unresolved issues. There wasn't any place for it. Everything else was thrown aside to focus on making music together, and Flynn knew as his bow flew over the strings that he wasn't just having fun—they were damned good at it. It was as if they could anticipate where the other would go next and have the complimentary notes ready to flow out into the room and meld together. In the space of a song, they were connected, and it was as wonderful and light a feeling as that first discovery of their common ground had been.

Eventually, however, Flynn had to let go. He let the notes slow and fade, and Yuri's playing dropped off as well. Silence like a contented sigh rushed in around them and Flynn set his violin aside to take a seat on his bed.

"You liked it. I thought you would."

"Yeah."

"I'd been wanting to play it for you. I was practicing earlier…." He trailed off as a thought occurred to him. "Karol said you were using it for storyboarding…? It isn't public domain, so you won't be able to—"

Yuri waved him off. "No, it's fine. I was just playing around. This new song…." He ran his fingers over Anemone and set her aside. "It's not coming. I'm just not getting anything when I try to work on it. I thought maybe I could get a running start, you know? Make a leap from there."

"Did it help any?"

"Maybe."

He smiled softly, staring down at his guitar. It was an expression Flynn hadn't seen him make before, something softer than his usual toothy grins or sharp smirks. It almost made him look cute, and Flynn had to look away, equal parts embarrassed and exasperated that he was so far gone that he was thinking Yuri Lowell—of all people—might be _cute_. Yuri was a lot of things. Cute was not one of them. Not if one was thinking rationally.

"What the hell? Are you blushing?"

Flynn rubbed a hand over his face and heard Yuri get up.

"Not thinking inappropriate thoughts, are you?"

_Not in the way you're suggesting_, he thought. Explaining felt like it would only make things worse, however, so an outright lie would do. He tried to sound affronted. "No."

"Liar." Yuri almost sounded casual, but he was practically running for the door. "Thanks for the improv session. See you tomorrow."

He disappeared into the hall and, moments later, Flynn heard the quiet click of his door shutting. With a sigh, he put his violin away and began getting ready for bed, trying all the while not to wonder if Yuri had turned the lock.


	3. Circles

A/N: This entire story was written because of Crash's Burger King antics. No, I jest. I did enjoy writing that part, though.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

"So…how did I end up driving again?" Flynn glanced down long enough to swat Yuri's hand away from the radio before turning his attention back to the road. There was entirely too much traffic for two in the morning, and he had to wonder if the roads were always this busy at night. Though he'd lived in Zaphias all his life, he was still seeing new sides of the city, due largely to his strange friendship with Yuri.

From the backseat, Crash leaned forward, putting himself in between the driver and passenger seats. He stuck his hands out, ticking points off on his fingers. The smell of alcohol was sharp as he spoke.

"Dude, you said you wanted to go to the party, right? Well, my car only seats two, Judy's has been making that weird noise and she can't afford the parts to fix it, and I really don't think we could have all managed on Yuri's ride."

"Sit down and put on your seatbelt," Flynn said shortly. He was a little surprised when Crash actually sat back, but he didn't hear the click of the belt.

"Actually, I guess we might have made it, but it would have taken some pretty sweet acrobatics, or at least some really tight balance and coordination. You ever seen those guys at the circus that ride, like, twenty to a scooter? I bet we could do that."

Yuri snickered. "Crash, you trip getting out of bed. I would pay to see you try and be part of a human pyramid on a motorcycle. You'd bring the whole thing down."

There was a soft thud and Yuri jolted forward. He leaned around until he was half in the backseat and obviously unbuckled. "Did you just kick my seat?"

"What are you gonna do about it?"

They started to scuffle, and Flynn tapped the breaks, just hard enough to get their attention.

"Both of you: sit down and buckle up! It isn't safe to be playing around like that."

Yuri sank back into his seat. There were no further thuds. There were no clicks, either.

"Are we there yet?" Judy asked, amusement thick in her voice, and Flynn cracked a smile.

They weren't a mile down the road when Crash was leaning up into the front seat again.

"Ooh! There! Pull over!" He stuck an arm out straight across Flynn, pointing to a Burger King. "I want some fries."

"What—?" Flynn sighed. "Yuri? Judy? What about you?"

"I could go for a shake."

"I don't mind taking a detour."

Bowing to popular opinion, Flynn turned into the parking lot and pulled into a space near the door. The dining room was open, but empty, and the group filed in, even the rustle of their clothes seeming loud in the strange quiet. Really, it had been a strange night all around, and ending it as the only people eating at a fast food restaurant in the wee hours of the morning seemed almost normal at that point.

Crash was the first one to the counter, asking for fries and a Coke and being entirely more rambunctious than the stone-faced cashier probably wanted to deal with. He snatched one of the cheap, cardboard crowns that were kept on hand for children, and fitted it around his head as a matter of course before strolling regally over to the soda fountain to fix his drink. Yuri got a burger and a vanilla shake, and Judy ordered a value meal. Flynn settled for a soda, thinking he might need the caffeine. He was a little worried that the night was not going to be ending quite soon enough.

They settled into a booth at the back. Crash slid quickly into the seat next to Yuri, forcing him to scoot over as Flynn looked on, a little annoyed that he'd been so easily pushed aside. He sat down next to Judy and tried not to be surprised when Crash took out a flask of rum, poured some into his Coke, and took a long drink.

"Should you really be doing that? What if they throw you out?"

"You've never worked at a place like this, have you?" Yuri asked. "They don't get paid enough to care, believe me."

"Besides, if they say anything, I'll just offer to share."

He grinned and tilted the cup toward Yuri who shrugged and took a sip. Judy politely declined when offered the cup, and Crash surprised Flynn again by offering him some, as well. He shook his head, a little weirded out, and perfectly happy with his own, non-alcoholic, soda. He sat there quietly while the others joked between mouthfuls. Crash kept dipping his fries into Yuri's milkshake, despite being constantly batted away. Yuri smacked at him and swore, but there was never any heat behind it, and his smirk never left his face. It was a little depressing to think that he never looked that way when he and Flynn fought. Between the two of them, anger came all too easily to the surface. Even little arguments could morph into full-on shouting matches. It seemed they really did bring out the worst in each other.

"They're always like this," Judy said. "One of these days, I'd like to see what would happen if one of them lost his temper with the other."

"Crash doesn't have a temper."

"Takes too much energy. Hakuna matata, man. Don't worry, be happy, and all that jazz."

Flynn looked at Yuri who shrugged and sucked at his milkshake. He snapped up the next fry Crash tried to dip into it, pulling it right out of his grip with his teeth, and Flynn looked away. It wasn't one of those cutesy, feeding each other scenes romcoms stereotypically delighted in, but it was close enough to serve as one more reminder that Yuri and Crash were more than friends. They acted like it didn't matter, and he did his best not to let it bother him, but he couldn't very well help how he felt. What made it even stranger was that Crash apparently _knew_ and genuinely seemed to have no problem with it. Hell, he was the one who had invited Flynn to go with them to the party in the first place.

When he got home from class Friday afternoon, there was a car Flynn didn't recognize sitting in the driveway. He parked off to the side, eyeing it as he passed, and wondering which of Yuri's friends would be driving a dusty old purple Trans Am. He could hear someone playing a few chords on bass guitar as he crossed the small porch, but he knew Judy's car. One of her friends, maybe? He opened the door and stepped into the living room and froze for a moment. Judy was there, standing in front of the drum kit in the corner, but the car's owner had to be Crash. He was lounging on the couch, a cigarette in one hand. The faint smell of cigarette smoke that always seemed to linger inexplicably in a house inhabited by two nonsmokers suddenly made sense, and Flynn tried not to wonder how often he was over for him to have so thoroughly left his mark. Yuri was sitting next to him, leaning forward to scribble something on a piece of sheet music, Old Scratch in his lap. He looked up and Flynn unfroze, trying to shake off how awkward he felt walking in, even though Judy was there, even though nothing private had been going on.

"We won't be practicing much longer," Yuri said. "In another hour or so, we'll be heading out. You'll have the house to yourself."

"On a Friday night? Boring." Crash made a quick gesture with his cigarette. "You should come to the party with us."

Yuri shot him a stunned glare, which he ignored in favor of taking a drag and tapping out the ashes into an old soda can.

"Maybe," Flynn said.

He hurried to make his exit, retreating to his room where he could pretend that the world still made sense. He shoved a couple of dirty t-shirts into the gap at the bottom of the door and pulled out his violin and tried to ignore the laughter he heard from the living room.

It was getting dark outside when a knock at his door pulled Flynn out of the end piece of Vivaldi's "Summer." Yuri spoke up from out in the hallway.

"We're getting ready to go. You coming?"

He was at the door in a flash, pushing aside the shirts with his foot to open it up. Yuri stood there with a hand on his hip, halfway hidden between his black tee and jeans and the darkness of the hallway.

"I thought he was only joking. You really want me to go?"

"I don't think it's gonna be your sort of scene, but I'm not gonna tell you that you can't come along."

"Let me just get changed. I'll be right out." He had learned his lesson at Keiv Rock. Khakis and a button down were a mistake.

"It's not that big a deal. No one's gonna care."

"Jeans, at least. I don't want to mess up these pants."

Yuri rolled his eyes, but as he stepped aside into a shaft of light from Flynn's room, it was obvious he was holding back a smile. "Whatever. Make it quick, or we'll leave without you."

"I'll just be a minute." He shut the door, sure that he was being laughed at, and not at all certain that he wasn't going to regret his decision. Neither of those things were enough to make him change his mind.

Flynn wound up being tasked with driving. Judy slipped into the backseat, and Yuri had the decency to take the front, rather than leave Crash to sit there. He played navigator through back roads and neighborhoods until the houses started thinning out and train tracks ran across the potholed road. Flynn spotted the house before Yuri pointed it out, a little single story place with a yard full of cars and a handful of people milling around, noticeable from a distance mainly due to the orange pinpricks of light from their cigarettes.

They pulled up and got out of the car. Outside, the noise of the party was reduced to a hollow buzz that filled out whenever someone opened the front door. Yuri set off through the cars, Anemone in her case on his back and Judy at his side. Crash dashed up from behind, pushing himself in between them and throwing his arms briefly around their shoulders before rushing off toward the amber light and shadowy figures behind the curtains and the promise hinted at by the scattering of empty plastic cups on the lawn near the porch.

It was much warmer inside among the partiers but, although the crowd and chatter and smoke and heat pressed in around Flynn, it was all far more subdued than he had expected. He wove through the crowd, following the eye-catching purple of Judy's hair as she and Yuri made their way to the kitchen. The table was covered in pizza boxes, bags of chips, and bowls of dip. The counters were an unruly mess of various bottles, from cheap beer to fruit-infused liquors to vodka. Mixed in with them were any number of sodas and fruit juices. Yuri fixed himself something bright green with Sprite and a couple of maraschinos, then disappeared when Flynn turned his back to get a slice of pizza.

He was pretty sure he knew where Yuri had gone. There was a door in the kitchen that led to the basement, and whenever someone opened it up, the volume level in the house doubled. There was a deep, bass hum that he could practically feel resonate through his bones when he reached out and touched the doorknob, and he hesitated.

There was no question that he had come to the party purely because of Yuri—no use even trying to lie to himself about that—but plunging into the underground scene wasn't necessarily going to make anything better between them. It sure as hell wasn't going to magically make Yuri like him. So, really, there wasn't any point in trying to endure the aural assault that was the basement. Besides, he could see into the living room from where he was standing. Someone had set up Rock Band. It had been a while since he'd played, all his games and systems having been left at his mother's house when she'd kicked him out.

Letting his hand fall to his side, he turned away from the door. It was a party, after all. He was going to have some fun.

An hour later, Judy found him in the living room, a new favorite among the people lounging around chatting and watching the players. She caught his eye from the hallway, and he passed off the plastic guitar and bowed out to join her.

"Look at you. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd had one too many."

"I'm driving," he said, a little affronted that she would even suggest he might mix the two.

Smiling, she changed the subject. "I was surprised to catch you playing that. I was under the impression that you were somewhat selective about what sort of music you listen to."

He smiled back, used to that reaction. "I am. When I'm just playing a game, however…it doesn't matter so much."

"I see." She tilted her head toward the kitchen. "You should go find Yuri. He's worried about you."

"Yuri is?" He very much doubted that.

"About five minutes ago, he asked if anyone had seen you."

"Right." They'd split up an hour ago. Had he only just noticed? "Thanks."

He headed back to the kitchen and the door to the basement as she wove her way through groups of partiers to check out the game. Flynn opened the door just as a roar went up from downstairs, and a few of the ground floor set chimed in comically, curling their fingers into claws, or laughing as the shout died down. The suddenness of it had been enough to push Flynn back a step, and he wished briefly that he'd brought his earplugs before he started down.

The unfinished basement had been made into something like a mancave. A red-felted pool table stood in one corner. Across from that was a fridge and small bar. The centerpiece, however, was the huge TV and equally impressive sound system. The mismatched sofa and pair of recliners that faced it were full of metalheads, and more stood behind them. Eyes fixed on the TV where grainy footage from a metal concert was playing, they all but ignored Flynn. Whatever they were watching seemed much darker than Dragon Swarm, and he didn't see Yuri among them, though he caught a glimpse of Crash near the pool table.

There was something happening on the other side of the stairs. He could barely make it out over the music, but he thought he could hear banging and shouting and a general clamor indicating the sort of mayhem where one might find a certain Yuri Lowell. Turning away from the band onscreen with their grimy, white stage paint and apparent fetish for Satanic imagery, Flynn walked around the stairway to take a look.

He found himself staring down a short hall into a small room, empty of furniture, where several partiers had apparently lost their minds. Someone had left a bare mattress in the middle of the floor and, from what Flynn could tell, a group of people with too much energy to spare had taken it as an invitation to treat the room like a bounce house. They were jumping all over the place, back and forth across the mattress, throwing themselves at each other, sometimes crashing together, then springing apart to go slamming into a wall, other times knocking each other down to land with a quick bounce and an even quicker roll to the side to avoid being trampled. They looked, for all the world, like a group of very large, hyperactive five year olds, and Flynn snorted, holding back a laugh.

"Incoming!"

The shout behind him was all the warning he got before someone barreled into him, flinging an arm around his shoulders and hustling him through the door, directly into the chaos. Flynn was flung straight into one of the metalheads, and they both went down hard. Expecting some rather unpleasant retribution, he wasn't prepared for the heavily tattooed helping hand that hauled him to his feet. The man he'd knocked down grinned at him and clapped him on the back in an aggressively friendly way that sent him stumbling several steps further into the room and nearly into another collision. Flynn spun around, wobbling, and backed quickly against the nearest wall, ready to dive out of the way as he edged back toward the door.

Crash slammed into the wall next to him, grinning and blocking his path. He was the one who had pushed Flynn in to begin with.

"Having fun?"

He considered a couple different responses before deciding to ignore the question. "I'm looking for Yuri!" He had to shout to be heard over the music.

"Out back! Through the kitchen door! Can't miss it!" He flashed Flynn the horns and bounded off to happen to a few other people.

A few quick steps, and Flynn made the safety of the stairs. It was with no small relief that he left the basement behind. There was a door straight across the kitchen leading outside, and the cool night air was almost enough to make him shiver after the heat of the crowded house.

There were about half a dozen people crowded onto the small back porch, sitting on plastic patio furniture or the steps down into the yard or leaning against the siding. Yuri was sitting on the railing, strumming something on Anemone that Flynn recognized from one of the Zelda games. Otter was playing merrily along on one of his ocarinas while someone else beat out a rhythm on two small drums lashed together. He listened as the song was played out, and felt a little thrill run through him to see the cheerful smile Yuri tossed his way.

"Hey! I was starting to think you'd bailed on us."

He waved him over and Flynn picked his way through the group, moving to stand in the empty corner right next to him. Up close, he could see that Yuri was a little flushed, and his breath smelled of alcohol and Kool-Aid when he spoke.

"You remember Otter, right? We saw him when we went to ZaFest, before we got kicked out."

"I remember." He nodded to Otter. "Good to see you."

"Likewise. You play?"

"Violin."

"Any good?"

"The best," Yuri put in. "Flynn plays a mean fiddle." He laughed suddenly, happily. "And he sings in the shower!"

"Yuri—!"

There was no stopping him. A few, quick chords from his guitar, and Yuri launched into "Will the Circle be Unbroken." His voice was mellow and full, and just a little rough around the edges. He sang the song like maybe it meant something to him, and for all Flynn knew, it did. They'd almost never discussed anything important aside from music. Maybe Yuri'd had a family that he used to attend service with, just like Flynn had. It had been a long time since he'd gone. His mother hadn't set foot in a church since the funeral, and Flynn simply hadn't had it in him to go alone. The songs were still with him, though, some of them, and he could still remember being small enough for his father to lift him up on his shoulders, right there in the middle of so many people, all of them _singing_….

A few other voices from the group had joined in. Those who weren't singing were clapping with a measured beat. Between verses, Yuri smiled at him, and Flynn added his voice to the rest, sending the familiar lyrics out into the night. He closed his eyes, the better to fill himself with the song and its warm nostalgia.

They stayed for another few hours, until the party started winding down. Flynn spent most of that time outside with Otter and his group, talking or listening to Otter play, accompanied by his friend with the drums. Yuri slipped away after a while, and Flynn watched him go, acutely aware of the fading warmth and phantom sense of pressure on his shoulder where Yuri had grabbed him to steady himself when he got down from his perch. There was usually so little contact between them—less than when Flynn had first moved in and they'd fought so often—but he supposed that was normal for people who were, after all, nothing more than roommates. It bothered him far more than it should have, and he left Yuri alone until it became obvious that the party was ending. It was time to go home.

A new concert was playing when Flynn went downstairs in search of Yuri and the others, every bit as loud as the first. There was a new group in the asylum, as he'd begun thinking of the small room next to the stairs—or, at least, he hoped it was a new group after so long—and Yuri and Judy were in the thick of it, bowling each other over as often as they tag-teamed people. Flynn stood to the side of the door, not interested in being pushed in again, and watched them grin as they fell and got back up and charged once more.

Yuri spotted him and waved him in, but Flynn shook his head. He raised his wrist, tapping his watch, and Yuri held up his hand, fingers splayed, _five more minutes, pleeease_? Trusting that they wouldn't take too much longer, he went back upstairs, surfacing once more out of the roaring ocean of sound and feeling momentarily deaf in the relative quiet of the kitchen.

Crash was sitting at the table, halfway through a slice of long-cold pizza and a beer.

"Rounding up the usual suspects?"

"Something like that." He took a seat across from him. Although he usually tried to avoid Crash, Flynn couldn't say he'd ever felt any real animosity from the lanky metalhead. He'd seen Crash compete with him for Yuri's attention, like that time at the Black Hole Bistro where he'd been asking so many questions about the menu, but it always had a teasing edge to it, and he got the distinct impression that Crash was only being playful. Maybe he knew Flynn didn't have a chance, or maybe he just really didn't care. Neither thought made Flynn inclined to like him much, which wasn't really fair. Crash had never been anything less than friendly.

"Why did you invite me?" Flynn asked him suddenly.

Crash grinned at him and gestured vaguely around himself. "Dude, it's a party. More the merrier, right?"

Was it really that simple? Did Crash somehow consider him a friend? Someone who posed no threat to his relationship? Did he really trust Yuri so implicitly that he had no qualms about befriending his boyfriend's roommate, who was currently _interested_ in said boyfriend? Wouldn't most people encourage their significant other to find someone else to live with in that situation?

"I don't understand you."

"Then you're trying too hard."

The basement door opened just then and Yuri and Judy came up, breathing a little heavy, but looking pleased with themselves.

Yuri looked them over, smile growing even bigger, and Flynn could practically see the wrong idea forming in his head. He probably thought that the two of them were getting to be friends. Flynn stood up, shoving a hand into his pocket in search of his keys.

"Everybody ready to go?"

Crash was the last to finish his food. He'd spent as much time messing with Yuri as eating, and by the time the last fry was gone, Flynn was more than ready to go. He still had to drop Judy off at home before they could go back and he could be rid of Yuri's careless boyfriend for the evening.

He rubbed a hand over his face as they left the restaurant. It had been a while since he'd stayed up so late, and he was worn out and feeling a bit short-tempered. He wanted to get home and get to bed before that got the better of him. He and Yuri hadn't fought all day. It would be nice if it stayed that way.

Judy lived in an apartment complex on the edge of the city. Taking her home added a good half an hour to the drive time, but she and Crash lived in opposite directions and they were all playing nice, so Flynn had agreed. He honestly wouldn't have minded at all if he weren't so tired, but his nerves were wearing thin, and Crash's very presence was starting to grate. So early in the morning, weariness could make even the most genuinely friendly people seem to have ulterior motives behind their every action, and Flynn was reaching the point where, likely or not, it felt like Crash's easygoing attitude hid mocking amusement.

Thankfully, he didn't stick around once they got back to the house. He and Yuri said their quick goodbyes, just a wave and a 'see you later.' No particular affection, nothing more than would normally pass between friends. Yuri went and sat down on the porch step, and Crash got into his car and drove off. After a moment's hesitation, Flynn took a seat next to Yuri and looked up at the few stars visible on the indigo canvas of the sky.

There was quiet between the two of them, an occurrence unusual enough that, with things as strange as they were, Flynn felt the need to fill it with talk. And he did have a question.

"Why didn't you think I would like the party?"

He'd gone to ZaFest specifically to see the bands at the metal stage, after all. That hadn't been so bad. He'd even liked a couple of them, much to his own surprise. He wasn't going to be switching out his khakis and wristwatch for leathers and studs any time soon, but…he'd thought that Yuri had appreciated that he was making an effort.

Yuri shrugged. "You didn't stick around earlier, and that was just a little bit of practice with Judy. I'm not gonna try and make you hang out in my circles."

That was it? That was the reason he'd thought Flynn wouldn't want to go? Was he _stupid_?

"I didn't stay because Crash was there."

"Oh." Staring down at his hands where they hung between his knees, Yuri sighed. "You still don't like him, do you?"

It wasn't really a fair question. He barely knew Crash. The problem was that he wasn't particularly happy about what he _did_ know. Maybe Yuri and Crash were determined to act like everything was a-okay, but it wasn't. It was weird and uncomfortable and just…messed up.

"He's a good guy—" Yuri started. Flynn cut him off.

"Sorry, but I'm getting really sick of hearing that."

"You haven't even given him a chance!"

"Maybe I don't want to."

"Fine. Be an ass about it." He stood up, heading for the door. "But if you expect me to start begging permission or go tiptoeing around whenever I want to have friends over, you've got another thing coming."

"You just go do whatever the hell it is you want to do. No need to start taking me into account now."

Yuri whistled sharply into the house, and Repede came dashing out to meet him. As they walked off the porch, he made a point of shoving into Flynn and didn't look back on his way up to the street.

"There are leash laws, Yuri!"

"So, call the cops and have me arrested. Can't hook up with anybody if I'm in a cell!"

"You are such an asshole!"

"Takes one to know one!" Without looking back, he held up a single finger salute over his shoulder.

"What are you, five?"

Yuri didn't respond, which was just as well. Bad enough that they were having a shouting match where all the neighborhood could hear, but doing so past three in the morning just seemed like an incredibly bad idea. Not to mention, rude.

He growled, though it wasn't nearly as satisfying as yelling at Yuri would have been, and went inside. As he locked the door, he hoped briefly that Yuri had forgotten his key, before he realized it was really a stupid thing to be vindictive over, since he would only end up getting out of bed to let him in, anyway. No matter how angry Yuri made him, it hadn't yet been enough to make Flynn quit liking the bastard.

Moving restlessly through the house, he stopped in his room to put his keys and wallet away, then headed into the bathroom. Splashing his face helped him cool down a bit, and he sighed as he reached for a washcloth to dry off with.

He liked Yuri. The question of when he'd had time for that sort of interest to develop during those fractious first months was one he couldn't answer, but he liked Yuri all the same. He liked how he was loyal, honest, and hardworking. He liked his dedication to music and his cooking. He liked his eyes, and had to admit to a certain amount of fascination with that tongue ring.

But Yuri was with Crash, and Crash was a lot of things Flynn wasn't—'a metalhead' and 'not a constant source of fights' being at the top of the list. If those were the sorts of things Yuri wanted in a partner, then Flynn really didn't have a chance. He wasn't that person, and he doubted he ever would be. Maybe they were just too different.


	4. Small Things

A/N: I'm certain that this is far more interesting in my head. Believe it or not, this is a big step forward for them. Some of this will come back in future shorts.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from_ Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

It was possible, Flynn supposed, that he was simply being paranoid. It was entirely reasonable to think that he was exaggerating what had always been the norm between them, that he was blowing their busy schedules and Yuri's appreciation for company out of proportion. It was _possible_, but it wasn't very likely. The truth was that Yuri was avoiding him.

Heaving a sigh, he rolled over beneath the covers. Karol and Judy had been over to practice almost before Yuri had made it back from his classes, and as soon as the Capels picked up their son a few hours later, Yuri and Judy had been off to get some dinner. It seemed that Flynn didn't merit an invitation without Crash around, and he couldn't put into words how much that bothered him. He'd met several of the friends Yuri had brought over to the house and out of all of them, only Crash had ever tried to include him.

Lately, Yuri had almost always been among friends or with his band when he was home. He surrounded himself with them, a barrier that Flynn couldn't breach because he wasn't one of them. It wasn't even about what music they listened to, or the fact that Flynn wasn't a part of Dragon Swarm. That sort of thing hadn't made a difference the few times he'd played with Yuri. They could appreciate the passion in each other. They could respect hard work and talent when they saw it. Yuri had been right all along. They were very much alike.

It was something nebulous and undefined that kept Flynn from fitting in with Yuri's crowd. He was like a puzzle piece dropped in the wrong box, and he soon gave up trying to hang around and join in on the conversation. He didn't like the way things were—didn't like to think that Yuri was so eager to put distance between them, didn't like to think that Yuri could get his way so easily—but what could he do about it? He hadn't particularly taken to any of Yuri's friends, and, while none of them outright rejected him, they weren't particularly welcoming of his company, either. He simply wasn't part of that group. He got along well enough with Karol and Judy, but their visits were almost always for practice sessions and Flynn didn't sit in on many of those.

He rolled over again, yanking at the tangled sheets. It wasn't just the people Yuri kept having over, either. He was leaving earlier and staying out later. They'd barely spoken a dozen words to each other the past week. Twice, Flynn had woken up to find a note on the kitchen table asking him to give Repede dinner and let him back in before he went to bed.

It wasn't even having to feed the dog that bothered him. It was just that he would have liked Yuri to actually ask him, to give him the option of saying 'no, sorry, I have other plans.' Was it that hard to exercise the simple courtesy of asking a favor in person? They'd gone from barely able to stand each other to nearly friends to something like a couple caught in an awkward divorce, except they were both keeping the house and Flynn was in charge of feeding Yuri's dog. It was like he was being continually punished. Every time it seemed like they might turn a corner, something would go wrong and they'd end up arguing and at odds once more. Flynn was beginning to wonder why he stayed.

From outside came the rumble of an engine and the faint scrunch of tires on the gravel drive. A car door slammed as he looked at his alarm clock. Two eleven. If Flynn had actually managed to get to sleep, Yuri would have woken him up past two in the morning. It wouldn't have been the first time, either. Yuri had been keeping later-than-usual hours over the past couple of weeks, and even though he seemed to be trying to keep the noise to a minimum when he got home, it was still usually enough to wake Flynn.

He flipped over onto his back and scowled up at the ceiling through the gloom. He could hear the car drive off as the front door opened and closed, and then the jingle of keys as Yuri tossed them carelessly aside. He was always doing things like that, always leaving papers and dishes and cans and all manner of things lying around the house. He'd left his phone behind more times than Flynn could count. Even when he tried to clean up after himself he would leave things lying around. When Flynn washed the dishes, they got dried and put back in the cabinet. When Yuri washed dishes, they were left stacked on dishcloths beside the sink, ostensibly to dry, but he never did seem to get around to putting them away.

Really, Yuri was far from an ideal roommate. He had days where he would hole himself up in his room and play late into the night. It wasn't so bad when he used Anemone. Yuri's playing was always a little softer on the guitar he'd gotten from Niren, but there were other nights when he'd stay up with Old Scratch. No matter how low the volume on the amp, Flynn always had trouble sleeping with those notes drilling straight through the thin walls of the old house. Any complaints the next morning would only be met with a shrug and a brief apology, coupled with the excuse that he'd lost track of time.

He was a messy roommate, too. The living room was unusable if Flynn wanted to have friends over, filled as it was with clutter from Yuri's band. Half the time when he did laundry, he would leave it sitting in the dryer afterward, and sometimes even in the washer. He never swept, never mopped, never vacuumed. He left wet towels bunched up in corners of the bathroom floor and wandered the house after showers, letting his wet hair drip everywhere.

All those small things added up on their own, but then there was Yuri, himself. He was manic some days, filled to overflowing with impossible energy that prevented him from sitting still and kept him grinning and joking. Other days, he would be quiet and calm, perhaps with a smirk to hint at his playful side, perhaps with a faraway look in his eyes, something pensive and thoughtful. Then there were his bad days, days when anything that passed between them was grounds for an argument. They hadn't broken into a physical fight since that night outside Keiv Rock, but there was violence in Yuri that stirred so very close to the surface, sometimes.

Unintelligible murmuring filtered into his room: Yuri talking quietly to Repede. He caught the creak of the bathroom door and the click of the switch. Light shone faintly from underneath his door, accompanied by the soft rush of running water. The taps turned off, the light disappeared with a click, and Yuri's footsteps neared and passed, heading down the hall to his own room. Flynn was left once more in silence, and he tossed and turned, trying to out-think his unreasonable attraction to his exasperating roommate.

Yuri was awake before Flynn the next morning, which probably shouldn't have come as any real surprise. It wasn't like he had anything that would be keeping him up at night. He took a shower first thing, which was what woke Flynn up. Yuri seemed undyingly amused by what the acoustics in the tiled bathroom did with his voice, and he would sing in the shower, shouting and grunting in turn, only occasionally falling back to the more melodic vocals Flynn knew he was capable of. It remained an exceedingly strange experience to hear Dragon Swarm's songs without instruments to back up the vocals, and Flynn pulled a pillow over his head, trying to block out the sound and get just a few more minutes of sleep.

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew, the house was quiet again. Yuri had probably left, run off once more to avoid Flynn and his unwanted feelings. He dragged himself out of bed, knowing he needed to get up but not terribly happy about the thought. Yawning, he trudged out of his room.

The bathroom was, of course, a shambles. One sopping wet towel was crammed up against the side of the tub. Another had been discarded beside the sink. There were puddles of water all over the floor and toothpaste splatter on the mirror. Thick gobs of suds oozed their way down the sides of the sink, fresh enough that he realized Yuri probably hadn't actually left for the day just yet.

Flynn was willing to bet he wasn't going to come back and clean it up. He never cleaned it up. He never took responsibility for any of the messes he left around their house.

Taking a step back, a towel squelched cold and wet and highly unpleasant beneath his foot. Growling, he kicked at it, caught his toe against the side of the tub, and slipped. He fell hard and it was the last straw. Shouting for Yuri, he hauled himself up and strode down the hall toward the door at the end that almost always stood ajar.

"_Yuri_!"

"What? I'm in the kitchen."

He spun in time to see Yuri peering into the hall, a grin spreading across his face.

"Your butt's wet."

"Whose fault do you think that is? I just slipped because you couldn't be bothered to clean up the mess you left in the bathroom!"

"It's just a little water. What are you freaking out for?" He ducked back into the kitchen before Flynn caught up with him, and tossed the bowl and spoon he was holding into the sink. He turned on the water and soaped up a sponge. There was already a cloth stacked high with dishes he'd washed the day before, all of them bone dry and ready to be put away, but did Yuri care? Hell no. He was going to add to his little pile with a bowl that was just going to drip all over it, and then he was going to complain that the dishes needed to be dry before he could put them away.

Flynn placed himself barely a step behind Yuri and crossed his arms. "We need to set up some rules."

He actually had the gall to start laughing at that as he scrubbed out the bowl.

"I'm not joking."

"Yeah, that's why it's funny. Make yourself some rules. Have fun with it." He set the dripping bowl upside down on top of the pile of clean, dry dishes.

"This isn't just your house. I pay half of the rent and half of the bills. I deserve to get a say in what goes on."

Without turning to look at him, Yuri lifted one hand over his shoulder and flicked water off his fingers. Slowly, Flynn wiped the droplets off his face. Obviously, this was not going to be a civil discussion. He grabbed Yuri by the arm and yanked him around, only to be roughly shoved away.

"I'm not playing with you, Yuri! Go clean it up!"

Yuri shifted a little, taking on the stance he settled into so often before a fight. He lifted a hand, palm up, and beckoned Flynn with his fingers. "Make me," he said, an unbearably smug smile on his face.

Drawing a deep breath, Flynn forced his fists to unclench. "I'm not going to fight you over this."

With a snort, Yuri stood straight and turned back to the sink. "Clean it up yourself, then," he muttered.

He would never know how Yuri saw the punch coming, because he, himself, hadn't intended to lash out. Still, he had a quick, surprising glimpse through his sudden rage of Yuri grinning at him past the hand he had clenched around Flynn's fist, past the only thing that had saved him from a blow that—at best—would have left him with a nasty bruise. One brief moment of staring straight into Yuri's face, of seeing that spreading, self-satisfied, infuriating grin, and then they were throwing punches left and right, shuffling around the small kitchen as they tried to tear into one another.

Yuri was fast and vicious, but not particularly choosy about where he aimed his hits, and it wasn't difficult to turn aside or block most of them. Few of his own punches landed. Yuri moved like a hummingbird, darting this way and that, ducking and taunting. He actually managed to slip around behind but, the second he attempted a hold, Flynn had him by the arm and was hauling him bodily over his shoulder. He had enough presence of mind not to actually slam Yuri onto the floor, though he immediately realized that had been a mistake. Yuri managed to get a grip and drag him down. They grappled, rolling across the linoleum, both far more concerned with beating the crap out of each other than with getting away. There were no shouts, no swears, just grunts and harsh breaths and a focus so fine that it nearly edged out Flynn's anger in favor of the need to dominate, to be just that little bit better than a tough opponent.

Flynn barely felt Yuri's punches, and didn't know if his own were having any effect. There was no telling if either of them had the upper hand, not when they were that close, not when they were so eager to lash out that neither was even attempting to search for a weakness to exploit. Somehow, Yuri slipped away and managed to get to his feet. Flynn went lumbering up and after him, unconcerned about the lack of grace in his movements. Grinning, Yuri backed away from him until he ran up against the countertops and found himself cornered. He had nowhere to run, no room to dodge, and Flynn managed to get in a couple solid hits before Yuri dropped straight down and slipped away between his legs.

He didn't go far. A quick sweep of his leg and he knocked Flynn to the floor once again, winding him with an elbow to the gut. He could have followed up on his advantage or used the chance to get away, but Repede had apparently decided that he'd given the humans enough time to play on their own. The dog charged in, knocking Yuri flat onto his back.

Rubbing the ache from that last blow, Flynn sat up, looking down at Yuri as he wrestled with his dog, both of them baring their teeth and growling and shaking each other playfully. He was trapped against the cabinets, with one of Yuri's legs thrown in between his, and he leaned against the wooden doors and caught his breath, watching as Repede shoved his muzzle into Yuri's face and began licking him mercilessly. Laughing, Yuri squirmed and shoved at him, and finally Flynn took pity on him and grabbed Repede, ruffling his fur and pulling his attention away from Yuri who lay there, gasping and grinning, dying laughter still spilling from his lips.

He focused on Flynn, gray eyes bright.

"I want a parfait," he said. "Wanna come along?"

Startled, Flynn's hands fell away from Repede and the dog surged forward to lick his face until the petting resumed.

"What, just the two of us?" He couldn't believe he'd heard right. Yuri had been avoiding him for weeks. Was it a joke? Was he plotting revenge?

"Well, I don't think the Teahouse will let Repede in." He stood up, wincing, but still grinning and guileless as he offered Flynn a hand. "Come on."

Feeling very confused, Flynn took hold of Yuri's hand and got to his feet.


	5. Degrees of Separation

A/N: A long short that will clarify "Small Things" to some extent.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from_ Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

Sitting in the darkened theater, Yuri leaned over to nudge Flynn's arm and murmur: "That guy's doomed."

"Shhh. I haven't seen this."

"Neither have I. Look, he just set himself up as a mentor figure. He won't survive the movie." He caught the incredulous look Flynn threw him and grinned. "Crash and I took a film studies class together, once."

"Save it for later."

He caught Yuri stealing another handful of popcorn and yanked the tub away. At least he hadn't tried to take a sip of Flynn's soda. Things between them had gotten better, but they weren't that close by far.

Something in Yuri had eased up since the day Flynn had tried to punch him when an argument over household chores had gotten out of hand. The atmosphere in the house was much more relaxed, Yuri's moods had considerably improved, and things were going surprisingly well.

Things were going so well, in fact, that Flynn would have been suspicious were it not for the growing attraction he felt for Yuri. That hadn't abated, much to his dismay. Rather, it seemed to be getting worse as they spent more and more time together and he got to know Yuri better. What had started out as something inexplicable and probably in large part superficial—Yuri _was_ easy on the eyes, to put it lightly—had developed into something deeper, something sharper. Flynn had it bad, and he knew it by the way an accidental touch could so easily claim his focus, or how the sight of Yuri and Crash so casual with each other tied knots in his stomach and made him wish bitterly that things had been different. Still, at least they were finally making progress, strange as it was.

It hadn't made any sense at the time why—after months of a strange sort of cold war between them that shifted from Flynn learning to rein in his temper and then Yuri trying to put distance between them—a few minutes of trying to beat the hell out of each other would start to patch things up. It bothered him enough that he had finally asked Yuri about it, and the answer he got only made things worse. How a fight like that could have made things 'less complicated' was entirely beyond him, but Yuri was clearly far more at ease around him. They'd even formed a tentative friendship over the past month. They shared meals, ran errands together, and every few days Yuri would bait Flynn into a fight that felt more like a sparring match.

He supposed that fighting was just another way that Yuri let off steam, and when he thought about it that way, there was a strange sort of logic to what had happened. It _was_ a relief to realize that even if he lost his temper—which was a given when dealing with Yuri—and even if they fought, he wouldn't lose his place in the house they shared. He'd seen Yuri hold grudges over a whole host of little things, but never over one of their fights, and Flynn was a little surprised to find that he didn't, either. Some days, that made him feel like he was just that little bit closer to understanding Yuri. Other days, it served as a not entirely welcome reminder that his life had changed and he had changed with it.

When Flynn had first moved in, Yuri's propensity for fighting had been a nuisance, almost an insult in the way he had seemed to find it so easy to push exactly the right buttons to get a response. Now, Flynn found that he was almost grateful for it. Against someone like Yuri, who was willing and eager to take him on, the fights were actually a decent way to relieve stress. They didn't solve anything, of course, but they made it easier to get frustrations out of the way before actually working out issues.

As it turned out, Yuri was a quick learner. Unlike Flynn, he'd never had any formal martial arts training, but he picked up various moves like they were second nature, and he only got harder to beat every time. He took his lumps and his losses in stride whether there had been an actual disagreement behind the fight or not.

Most of what he had been taught came from Niren but, on the whole, Yuri was unforthcoming when it came to the old soldier—or anything about his past, really. Although, every now and again when they were cooling off after a match, he would open up just a little bit and talk about his memories of Niren or his early days on the metal scene or even just something that had happened on campus. He would always ask about Flynn's life immediately afterward, as if trying to divert attention from himself. Anything about his life before he met Niren was not up for discussion, but Flynn listened to the things he said and what he didn't say and made some guesses, fitting pieces into place in the puzzle that was Yuri Lowell.

The movie played on, thankfully free from further commentary. It wasn't until it was more than halfway through that Flynn became aware of the warmth of Yuri's hand against the back of his own on their shared armrest. He glanced over to see that Yuri had dozed off, slumped in his chair. He'd had a busy week between work, school, and his band and, although he'd agreed to the late showing readily enough, Flynn wasn't all that surprised. He turned back to the screen and tried to concentrate on the movie rather than the tiny bit of warmth between them, connection and temptation. He curled his fingers into a fist and kept his hand to himself.

When it was time to go, he nudged Yuri's shoulder to wake him and joked about him working too hard as they left the theater. Yuri just grinned and went along with it. He grabbed Flynn's popcorn when they got into the car and emptied the rest of his M&Ms over it, munching happily during the ride home. They listened to a CD of classical music revamped and performed with electric instruments and neither the brief periods of conversation nor the quiet lulls between were nearly as uncomfortable as they used to be.

Repede came to greet them when they got home, and Yuri took him out to the backyard as Flynn went to wash his face and brush his teeth. When they hadn't come back in by the time he was done, he went to see what was taking them.

Their neighborhood was full of tall trees rising high above the houses and creating a dark, tattered border around the splash of sky above. Yuri stood in the middle of the yard, still as a statue, staring up into the heavens and Flynn joined him there, gazing up at the few stars that shone through the light pollution of the city. He recognized a couple of the more well-known constellations, but Yuri had pointed out several others to him. It seemed Niren had been the camping type, and had taken Yuri with him on several trips far away from the cities where the only lights were what shone from the sky and the patterns in the stars became all the more apparent.

Flynn glanced briefly at Yuri and took a small chance.

"We should go camping some time."

Yuri's laugh was short and soft. It brought with it the familiar sting of rejection until he spoke.

"You sure you could handle a couple days away from modern conveniences, city boy?" His smile was crooked and free of malice, and Flynn relaxed enough to smirk back at him before turning his face up to the stars.

"You're as much a city boy as I am."

Again, Yuri laughed, but there was nothing in the sound to make Flynn flinch away. "Might be fun. We could take Repede along, too. Sound good, pal?" He knelt to pet the dog that had trotted up to join them.

They stayed outside for a few more minutes, that tiny victory shining like the brightest of stars. Then, with a yawn, Yuri stood and stretched, heading for the door, Repede at his side. Flynn followed along behind, certain that things were finally moving in the right direction.

The next morning, Flynn allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in. It was a Saturday, which meant he didn't have much that he needed to get done aside from a few chores and a couple loads of laundry. He lay in bed, wondering if he ought to give Estelle a call after he was done, or if Yuri might want to take Repede for a walk with him before he had to leave for work that evening.

Sunlight came streaming in through the blinds, warming the room. He stretched, pushing the covers back, comfortable enough in just an old pair of sweats. Everything felt peaceful and full of promise, and he sighed happily, thinking he'd give it just a few more minutes before getting up and starting the day.

His hand had come to rest in a shaft of sunlight, and the warmth on his skin reminded him of the previous night. Curling his fingers loosely around the bed sheet, a half smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Yuri was so strange. It hadn't been all that long ago that he could barely stand being alone with Flynn. Last night they'd grabbed a late dinner together and gone to a later movie. It hadn't been a date, of course—Yuri wasn't interested—but it was hard not to draw parallels, and harder still to forget that these changes had only come after they'd begun fighting again. He'd been working so hard to keep his temper in check, but, when it had finally broken loose, Yuri had actually accepted, even welcomed it. He enjoyed their bouts, entered into them with a playful intensity more often than not that turned them from violent confrontations into a challenge that Flynn had actually begun looking forward to. Fighting with Yuri…was fun.

"_Flynn_! Where the hell is my tie?"

Sometimes. With a sigh, Flynn got up and went to the door, leaning out into the hall.

"It's hanging up with your shirt."

"Where? I don't see—oh. Wha'd you hide it…for." He'd come out of the laundry room and stood staring from down the hall. "Nice bed head," he said after a moment. The annoyance was gone from his voice.

Shaking his head, Flynn ducked back into his room and shut the door. If Yuri was going to start being weird, he was at least going to get dressed before trying to deal with him. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, wanting something he could move in should Yuri be inclined toward starting a fight. The bed head comment had him running a comb through his hair, though his pride made him ruffle it back into spiky disorder…just to prove that he didn't care what Yuri thought about how he looked.

He needn't have worried. By the time he came out, Yuri was eating at the dining room table, far more interested in his cereal than anything else. As he sat down to fix himself a bowl, the doorbell rang. Neither of them moved for several long seconds. It rang again as Flynn looked up at Yuri.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

"Why should I get it?"

"It's probably one of your friends."

"No one I know gets up this early on a Saturday." He took a bite, considering, and added: "Except Estelle."

"It can't be one of mine. None of them know this address." He smiled a little. "Except for Estelle."

A wide grin spread across Yuri's face. "What? You ashamed of me?"

"No. I'll go see who it is." Standing up to forestall any further discussion, he called out over the third ring: "Coming!"

The living room was, as always, a practically unusable mess. That was the biggest reason he didn't have friends over. It was embarrassing, and blaming it all on his roommate, truth or no, was a pretty weak excuse. Shaking his head at the mess, he opened the door.

Flynn didn't gasp, but that was probably due more to the fact that he suddenly couldn't breathe than to any lack of shock upon seeing exactly who had come to visit. His mother stood on the porch, a petite woman in an impeccable three piece suit staring up at him disapprovingly. Flynn didn't move, couldn't move, couldn't even think about moving. Dread weighed him down and ground his thoughts to a halt. He hadn't seen her since their fight. She looked exactly the same—of course she would, it hadn't been that long ago, even if it felt like a lifetime. He remembered the sound of her voice, screaming at him to

_Get out! Get out, and don't you come back! You aren't welcome in this house until you straighten yourself out!_

She'd broken down into harsh, wracking sobs, asking him over and over

_How could you do this? How could you do this to me?_

"Flynn." Her voice hit him like a slap and he flinched. Her hands had been settled on her hips, but she crossed her arms now as she stared him down. "Are you going to step aside and let me in?"

Automatically, he started to move out of her way. Just then, however, Yuri came in from the dining room. He stood just behind Flynn and a little to the side, further blocking her path. He was close enough that Flynn could feel his warmth, and it helped him begin to thaw.

For a moment, Yuri looked down his nose at the woman a head shorter than both of them who had Flynn so thoroughly stunned. Then, he cracked a smile.

"Sorry, I've already got an Avon rep."

He took a quick step forward and reached to shut the door in her face. He wasn't quite fast enough. She pushed past him into the house and set her feet, making it clear that she wasn't going to be leaving without a fight. Though Flynn had inherited most of his traits from his father, his stubbornness was one thing he had definitely gotten from her.

Yuri should have recognized the look in her eyes, but he wasn't one to back down. "Hey, I don't remember saying you could—"

"I'm not here to speak with _you_." She didn't even look at Yuri. Flynn was beginning to feel like a mouse that had locked gazes with a cobra.

"I don't really care who you want to talk to. I'm the only one here with his name on the lease, which means I'm the one who gets to decide who's trespassing. Your choices are: you can leave, I can help you leave, or I can call the cops and let them deal with you."

"Flynn, I would like a word with you in private." She made no move to go elsewhere, making her meaning clear.

Most of the initial shock had faded and his thoughts were coming together again. He could handle talking to his mother. Besides, he'd learned a great deal about holding his temper over the past several months. And the fact that she'd even come at all must mean that she was willing to talk to him. They could have a civil discussion. Probably.

Laying a hand on Yuri's shoulder, he felt the familiar ready tension before a fight and it was almost enough to make him smile. They had their differences and Yuri didn't feel the same way about him, but he had still stepped in to take Flynn's side without hesitation. Somehow, it wasn't all that surprising.

"It's okay."

Yuri glanced back at him. "You sure?"

"Yeah. It'll be all right."

"If you say so." Just like that, he backed down. Before he left, however, he moved in close enough that Flynn could feel his breath against his ear as he spoke. "Go get her, Tiger."

The words had been meant for his mother, a goad to her temper. The slap on Flynn's ass as he retreated to his room was the same. It was the first time she looked directly at Yuri, tracking his movements with an expression so full of disgust and disdain that Flynn finally felt a warm rush of anger flow into him. It woke him up and sharpened his focus, but he tried to set it aside in favor of the faint hope he'd been holding on to that they might one day be able to forgive each other.

They studied each other, and Flynn felt like he was sizing up an opponent before a fight. He needed something to say.

"How did you find me?"

"Coincidence. I was at my hairdresser's the other day, and I heard some little hooligan talking about that extremely rude young man you've gotten yourself mixed up with. He's no good, Flynn. Anyone who associates with a man who dyes his hair pink isn't worth giving the time of day. It's outrageous. I suppose he never bothered to tell you that I called."

"Actually, he did let me know." His voice was tight as he fought to keep from snapping. She'd always been like that, always deciding on her version of events before knowing the truth.

"When you miss a call, the courteous thing to do is call back. What sort of person lets his nosy roommate answer his phone, then acts as if he never received a call in the first place? I raised you better than that."

"I've been preoccupied."

"Too preoccupied to even send me a ticket and a reminder about your last concert?"

"The date for that had been set _months_ before—" he paused and took a breath to calm down. "—before I left. All you had to do was show up."

She sniffed. "Oh, certainly. And have all the other mothers gossiping behind my back, I'm sure."

"I haven't been discussing our situation."

"I should hope not! I didn't raise you to air your dirty laundry."

Flynn sighed. They weren't getting anywhere. "Why are you here?"

"I want you to come home."

The answer left him gaping, at a loss for words. He hadn't expected…. He'd hoped, but never thought she would actually….

"You want—"

"There's no reason for you to live like this."

The spark of hope guttered. He had a sinking feeling he knew what she was getting at.

"Live like _what_?"

She ignored the tension in his voice. "You know what I mean."

"No, I don't think I do. I'm doing very well for myself, all things considered. I found a job, a nice house—"

"Really, Flynn, there's a hole in the wall. And is that a bruise on your arm?"

He looked despite himself and, sure enough, there was a sickly yellowish splotch just barely peeking out from beneath his sleeve. He had to fight back the urge to cover it with his hand. The damage had already been done, anyway.

"It was that degenerate roommate of yours, wasn't it? His type are all like that, Flynn. You can't trust them. They aren't right."

"And just what type would that be? Musicians? College students?"

"Don't you be smart with me, Flynn Scifo! _His_ type."

There would be no getting through to her. He sighed and tried to change the subject. "Did the family put you up to this?"

"No one 'put me up to this.' I'm here trying to save my son from a lifetime of misery. Come back, Flynn. We'll get you some help. There are specialists for this sort of thing—"

"It's _not_ a disease!"

"It's unnatural. Speaking of which, you haven't…_been with_…that young man you're living with, have you? I feel like I could catch something simply by being here." Flynn started to interrupt, to protest, but she talked right over him. She didn't care. "He hasn't offered you drugs, has he? We'll have to get you tested for that, too, when—"

"Are you _listening_ to yourself?" He threw his hands up, fingers curling into claws in the air. He wanted to lash out, but he had no target, nothing he could vent his anger on. All that stood before him was his mother, arms crossed over her chest in unwavering disapproval. "You don't even _know_ him! Yuri doesn't do drugs. He doesn't sleep around. He works to support himself, and he's going to college. He's no different from me!"

"Now, that simply isn't true. You've got so much more going for you, Flynn. You have a future ahead of you. You could make something of yourself if only you'd stop all this nonsense and come back home."

She actually reached out for him, but he jerked back before her fingertips so much as brushed his arm. Realization trickled coldly through his anger, and he had a moment of calming clarity that gave him the space he needed to take a breath. He took a good look at the woman standing before him, a small-minded person so convinced that her own limited worldview was the only correct one that she didn't care about anything except preserving it. There was nothing in her to remind him of the mother who had raised him. She'd died the day his father had, and only this cold replica was left.

"That isn't my home anymore," he said quietly. "It hasn't been since you kicked me out."

"I had no choice! You—"

"I'm not finished. _This_ is my home. I chose it, and I belong here more than I ever will with you. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you insult me and my friends. I want you to leave."

She had the utter gall to look shocked at that. "I am your _mother_—!"

"For whatever that's worth." He turned away. "Go. Or I'll let Yuri call the police."

Of course, Yuri had been listening in from just inside his room. He took Flynn's place, slipping past him with phone in hand and a grin on his face as Flynn stepped into the hallway. He'd meant to go straight to his room. He trusted Yuri to chase her off without actually calling law enforcement or resorting to violence. Something stopped him though, and he stopped, sagging against the wall and feeling suddenly exhausted. His mother called out to him from the living room.

"Flynn! Flynn, honey, I want you to come home. This isn't the life for a nice boy like you."

"Sorry, Mrs. S, but it looks like it's time for you to go."

"Don't you 'shoo' me, you filthy pervert! It's your fault I had to come out here in the first place. You put that bruise on his arm, didn't you?"

"Wanna see the ones he gave me?"

"I'll have you arrested! I will call the police and have you locked up for assault!"

"I don't care what you do, as long as you don't do it here."

"Flynn, you get back in here _this instant_ before I'm forced to raise my hand to this…this _man_!"

"Jeez, and I thought your son was a pain in the ass. Hey, Flynn! I take back all that shit I said about you! Except for when I said you suck cock, because _damn_—!"

There was the dull smack of flesh hitting flesh and Flynn whipped around the corner back into the living room, horrified to think about what Yuri might do if his mother had actually slapped him. Thankfully, the situation wasn't quite that bad. Though it was clear she had tried, Yuri had been quicker. He'd caught her arm and now held her in a grip that Flynn knew from experience she wouldn't be able to break. When he spoke, his tone was light, almost friendly.

"See, now you've gone and attacked me in my own home. I have every right to defend myself but, since Flynn would probably just bitch at me later if I did, I'm willing to let this go in exchange for you kindly getting the hell out."

"You can't threaten me!"

"Usually, I prefer resorting to violence. You should be grateful that you're a special case."

He didn't sound so friendly anymore, and when Flynn saw his mother shiver as she tried to stare him down, he was suddenly grateful that he couldn't see Yuri's face. Most of her aggression drained away, and Yuri let her go, though he followed her to the door like a bouncer. He leaned out, watching her go. Just before he came back in and slammed the door shut, he shouted after her: "See you at the next family reunion!"

Flynn wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss him or kill him. He started to go back to his room, paused just outside the door, then headed into the kitchen where he paced the linoleum as his thoughts fell together in a jumble.

That could have gone worse. It could have been worse, right? She'd come to see him of her own volition. That had to count for something, even if she was still convinced that there was something fundamentally wrong with him. He'd stood up to her. That was definitely worth something. It put them on an even footing. They would need that in order to work things out.

She'd abandoned him. She'd turned on him in an instant and kicked him out of the house.

But she had come looking for him. She'd said she wanted him to come back.

Not him. She didn't want _Flynn_; she wanted her idea of what he should be. She wanted a son who wouldn't make her 'the mother of that gay violinist.'

There had to be some hope, though. She wouldn't have bothered coming merely over her reputation. They weren't well known enough in the community for that. She had to feel some remorse for what she'd done. She _had_ to. She was his mother. She was supposed to love him unconditionally.

No such thing as unconditional love.

She'd just been angry, that was all. Flynn had been angry, too, but it had taken almost two months of butting heads with Yuri for him to realize just how upset he was. He'd been trying to hide from it, trying not to think about it, but it was too big to ignore. Maybe it was the same for her. Maybe she just didn't know how to cope with the way she had treated her son. Maybe…maybe if he could forgive her for her rejection, maybe then she would….

Yeah, right. She would never be able to accept who he was. She probably wouldn't ever even come back. He'd had one chance where she might have listened, where they might have been able to talk and find some compromise, but he'd gone and sent her away and allowed Yuri to chase her off and say all those misleading things. If Flynn hadn't been beyond hope in her eyes before, he certainly was now.

Yuri was leaning against the counter, watching from the dining room side, his chin propped in his elbows, and Flynn halted in his steps to meet his eyes.

"Why did you say all that to her?"

"All what?"

"You know exactly what!" Echoes of his mother were clear enough in his own words to make him wince, but he pressed on regardless, unable to stop himself. "All you had to do was make sure she left, and you couldn't even manage that without picking a fight!"

"Hate to break it to you, but she wasn't going to leave without a decent bluff."

"Don't give me that! You could have gotten rid of her a hundred different ways. And you didn't have to antagonize her after she was out of the house!"

"What's it matter? She's gone, isn't she?"

"That's not the point! There was no reason for you to tell her that I—!" He stumbled over the words. To have said something so crude right to his mother's face…!

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed. Not like she doesn't know you're gay." He smirked, leaning just a little bit further over the counter. "Or do you just suck at it?"

Flynn gaped, briefly at a loss for words over the fact that Yuri was actually making jokes. Couldn't he take _anything_ seriously?

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"Hey, I could have just let her come after you. I didn't have to get involved in your family issues."

"But you did. You just put yourself right in the middle of everything, never mind that it wasn't any of your business!" He slammed his hands down on the counter, getting right in Yuri's face. It didn't make him back down, didn't even make him flinch.

"Get rid of her on your own next time, then!"

"I didn't ask you to do it _this_ time!"

The look in Yuri's eyes was sharp and steady and reminded Flynn that he could be strangely in tune about certain things. Earlier, he'd brushed past Yuri in his rush to get out of the living room. He'd bumped his shoulder, tagged him in, and trusted him to have his back and put a quick end to the unexpected visit. Yuri had understood that, at least in part, and he'd done it. He just hadn't done it with any sort of tact or common decency.

Shaking his head, Flynn turned away. More fool him, for expecting that Yuri could do anything without complicating the situation.

"Where are you going?"

"What's it to you? I need to get out of here for a while."

"What you need is a good ass kicking." He cracked his knuckles and stepped forward as Flynn rolled his eyes.

"I'm not fighting you over this. It's not one of your stupid games, Yuri. You were in the wrong."

He walked off. He only needed to get his keys and his wallet out of his room, and then he was gone, out the door and half expecting Yuri to give him the same sort of send off he'd given his mother. She couldn't have driven far, and the thought of accidentally crossing her path was almost enough to make him reconsider. It was a ridiculous thing to fear, though, and he _had_ to get away and just…just take some time to get his thoughts back in order. He'd been holding onto a vague, foolish hope all this time, but his mother's visit had put an end to that. There would be no going back to the life he'd lived before.

By the time Flynn got home that afternoon, Yuri was gone. It was just as well, really, since he still wasn't sure what to say to him. Even so, as evening fell, he kept an eye on the time as he wandered restlessly around the house, straightening up and trying to come to terms with the fact that it really was his home, now. Eventually, it became obvious that Yuri wasn't going to be coming back after his shift. Flynn went to bed, too tired to be angry and feeling like he'd burned bridges with two people that day.

Yuri came in the next morning just as Flynn was sitting down at the dining room table with a cup of coffee and some equally black toast. Wordlessly, he tossed aside his helmet and shed his jacket as he passed through the living room. His hair was a mess from the ride back, flyaway strands pulled free of the loose braid that barely held it back. He headed straight to his room to change out of yesterday's clothes and Flynn caught up with him when he went to feed Repede.

"About yesterday—"

Sighing, Yuri set the food bag aside and turned around. "Hit me for it, if you want."

It wasn't an apology by a long shot, but Flynn thought he could see something contrite in his posture beneath the crossed arms and steady gaze. He'd given things plenty of thought last night and, although he knew there were better ways to have handled the situation, it was as much his own fault for expecting Yuri not to fight dirty against an opponent that he couldn't approach head on. Besides, it was sort of nice to know how readily Yuri would defend him. He had planned on apologizing for having lashed out, but if Yuri was ready to forgive and forget without trading actual apologies….

Having been expecting a punch, Yuri must have been shocked when Flynn impulsively stepped in and kissed him.

The moment stretched out longer than he'd expected. He felt Yuri's arms tense beneath his hands. He smelled like cigarettes. Flynn had enough time to start to feel a little giddy, to begin to wonder if Yuri would kiss him back once his brain caught up with events. The moment was shattered with the impact of a fist slamming into his side, and he winced as he was shoved roughly backward.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Yuri ran a hand through his hair, tangling his fingers in his braid in his distraction, but Flynn was watching his lips, watching that enticing flash of silver as he licked them.

"That…was…a lot of things, I think." Apology, show of gratitude, revenge—Yuri could make of it what he would. Flynn had kissed him because he wanted to, because he wanted Yuri, because he'd appreciated the solidarity, because he'd known it would get on his nerves. And Yuri did seem discomfited, but there was something strange about it. He looked….

"I didn't think you'd let it last so long."

"Shut up. You surprised me." He didn't make eye contact until he heard Flynn laugh. "What? It took me off guard!" He was definitely blushing.

"Do you have some time later today?"

The non sequitur had him looking suspicious. "Why?"

"You still haven't figured out how to counter that hold I got you in the other day, right? I'll show you."

Back on familiar ground, Yuri grinned his widest and the sight eased a knot of tension that had been sitting like a weight in Flynn's stomach. "Bring it on."


	6. Surface Tension

A/N: The continuing adventures of Flynn not getting what he wants and sometimes just plain not getting it.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are (mostly) from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

In his mind, Flynn kept returning to that kiss, straining to recall every tiny sensory detail and captioning all of it with a dozen variations of 'I should not have done that.' On his way out of the library, he passed by a group of students clustered near the doors. The smell of their cigarettes was accusatory.

Yuri was in a relationship. Flynn had known that when he'd kissed him. Being caught up in the moment, having too much to express in words wasn't an excuse. Yuri seemed to have written it off easily enough, but Yuri wasn't the one Flynn had to face in the mirror everyday. A year ago, he never would have considered himself the type to interfere in someone else's relationship. He wouldn't have expected to end up getting into physical fights with his roommate a few times a week, either. Some days, he worried about what sort of person he was becoming.

He walked away from the library, trying not to look at the knowing smiles on the statues of the muses that flanked the stairs, as they were reminding him more and more of a certain sardonic smirk. The thought called up a mental picture of Yuri, Muse of Metal, decked out in a shredded black band tee toga, hair wreathed with tangled amp wires and guitar picks, Old Scratch in his hands, and a challenge to the whole damn world in his grin.

Quickening his pace, he tried to escape the ridiculous image. He left the buildings behind, skirted the dip of the campus amphitheater where people congregated to chat and picnic and play. Not much further on was the thick hedgerow that enclosed the grounds. It had rained earlier that day, and the air was thick with the smell of earth and plant life. He inhaled deeply and sighed, glad of the solitude. The thick grass was still damp, but not so much so that he hesitated to lay his messenger bag down upon it. He set his violin case on top of that and flipped open the catches, sure that he would feel better once he'd played for a little while.

Just as he made to lift out the instrument however, his phone rang. He didn't recognize the number and glanced longingly at his violin before answering.

"Hello?"

'Flynn?'

The phone nearly fell from his hand. "_Sodia_?"

'I heard about what happened. I…I wanted to see if there was anything I could do.'

He hadn't seen her since he'd graduated high school. They'd had classes together since elementary school. She'd been one of the few girls in his judo classes, and they'd even moved in the same social circles, although they'd never been particularly close. He wondered how she'd gotten his number, then decided that he didn't care. It would probably do him some good to have someone objective to talk to.

"Actually, are you free today?"

They met up at the Black Hole Bistro and Flynn told her everything that had happened, start to finish. She listened to all of it, throwing in the occasional comment on his behalf. By the time he had finished, he was freshly exhausted by it all. He apologized for having gone on for so long and took a hungry bite of the burger that had arrived in the middle of his recounting of events.

Sodia seemed to be taking it all in stride. She ate a few bites of her club, letting everything settle before she spoke.

"You need to move out."

"But—"

"You only started to think that you might be interested in him once you began processing what your mother had done to you, right?"

"Well…." He recalled his fascination with the piercing on Yuri's tongue. "Yes." It was a half-truth, at least.

"There, see? It's all because you were emotionally vulnerable. Get away from him and it will pass. Besides, he isn't a good influence."

"That's not true. He's—"

"He's dragging you into fights which could cause you to injure your hands, taking you to concerts and parties where people go deaf because they haven't heard of moderation in all things…. Flynn, he's going to ruin your career."

"I don't have a career just yet."

"And you won't, if you don't separate yourself from him."

"You don't understand. He isn't trying to destroy my life or make me change who I am. He just…."

How could he show her that Yuri wasn't as bad as he'd just accidentally made him out to be? He was a good person, at heart. Sure, he was frustrating, but he was also engaging and smarter than he admitted to, disarmingly intuitive sometimes, and funny.

"Oh! Here, take a look."

He pulled out his cell phone and looked up the only picture he had of Yuri, the one he'd gotten from Estelle that day when Yuri had left them in the Jasmine Teahouse. Sodia looked it over, confusion plain on her face. She didn't laugh and the story wasn't funny when Flynn tried to tell it. He took his phone back, smiling a little at the photo.

"Yuri…understands me. There's more to him than he lets on." He could practically feel bow and strings under his fingertips. "You should hear us play together."

"Please tell me you aren't applying that old cliché about making beautiful music together to the two of you."

"We do, though." Hoping the flush creeping into his face wasn't obvious, he put his phone away. His words had sounded too defensive.

"I think you should introduce me."

The way she narrowed her eyes made him feel like that would somehow be a very bad idea. He let her follow him on the drive home, anyway. He couldn't think of a good reason not to.

Yuri and Crash were on the living room sofa playing Super Smash Brothers when Flynn and Sodia walked in. Crash was sitting upside down, ankles crossed against the wall as his head dangled off the seat cushion. Yuri was sprawled next to him, leaning on the arm of the couch. One of his feet hung over the floor. The other was stretched out over Crash's stomach. Flynn looked back and forth between them and the screen.

"How can you play upside down like that?"

"Practice."

"Practice, my ass. I am _destroying_ you!" Yuri whooped and raised his controller high as he won the round. "Suck it!"

"Burn," Crash drawled. He'd been playing Kirby.

"You guys want in?"

Flynn glanced at Sodia, who was staring at Yuri rather intently, as if she would be able to see what Flynn saw in him if only she focused hard enough. He made a quick round of introductions and Crash waved at her.

"'S up?" Patting the cushion next to him, he invited her to have a seat.

As she made herself comfortable, Flynn pulled out the remaining two controllers and plugged them in. Yuri sat up to make room for him, then immediately flopped right back down over his lap, wriggling and pushing.

"You aren't comfy," he complained.

"I'm not a cushion. Get off!"

He hoped he wasn't blushing as Yuri sat up properly, and tried not to be too disappointed when Crash didn't get kicked in the face in the process. He was getting jealous, which wasn't good, but how could he help it when Yuri didn't have the common courtesy to refrain from flaunting his relationship?

When the character screen came up, he selected Marth and Sodia chose Samus and they joined the fight between Kirby and Bowser.

Sodia didn't hesitate to make her opinion known. She attacked Bowser relentlessly, Kirby when necessary, and left Marth alone.

"Ease up on my cold blooded bro. Me and Flynn are gonna feel left out."

"He's the villain. He's supposed to be defeated."

"Okay, well hold up. Yuri, lemmie borrow you a sec."

"Wha—! Hey! Knock it the fuck off!" He shoved at Crash's legs as Kirby swallowed Bowser whole.

"Gojira is coming!" Crash shouted delightedly as his horned, fire breathing Kirby chased after Samus. "We must flee the city!"

He and Yuri tag teamed her and knocked her off the side before ganging up on Flynn. When Sodia got back in the game, they worked together to kick the crap out of Yuri and Crash's characters. There was a great deal of good-natured shouting and swearing and shoving. Yuri was a warm weight on Flynn's side, distraction and obstacle as he jerked the controller back and forth. He smelled like soap and not at all of cigarettes, and Flynn didn't hesitate to shove him aside and knock Bowser right off the edge.

They had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner later that evening, compliments of Yuri. Sodia seemed tired. She barely said anything through the meal. Flynn walked her out to her car when it was time for her to go home, and she hesitated with her key in the lock.

"You should move out," she insisted.

His heart sank. He had thought that she would understand. It would have meant so much to him if someone from his old life had looked at what he'd found for himself and approved. Particularly if it had been Sodia. His mother had always liked her, always been a little unhappy that she and Flynn weren't closer. A sudden thought struck him, and he watched her slide behind the wheel.

"Who did you get my number from?"

She didn't look at him. "Your mother gave it to me."

"Did she—"

"I'm not taking her side. I called because I wanted to." Finally, she met his eyes. "Can I see you again in a few days?"

After she'd had time to report back to his mother? He shook off the paranoid thought.

"Sure."

She smiled then. She really did have a pretty smile, and Flynn caught himself thinking that his life would have been so much easier if he had felt even the slightest stirring of interest. He stepped back as she closed the door, and waved as she backed out and drove off. Crash was on his way out as he turned back toward the house.

"Cute. You should ask her if she wants to be hot bikini chick number two."

Without Yuri to interpret, the comment was lost on Flynn. Crash waved lazily, calling out: "Later, man," then he was gone, too.

Inside, the house was quiet save for the rush of water from the kitchen where Yuri was rinsing out the pot he'd cooked the spaghetti sauce in. Flynn joined him at the counter and picked up a dishcloth to help dry.


	7. Sudden Reversal

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

A week before Flynn had brought Sodia home, Estelle had asked a favor of him and Yuri. She wanted to throw a birthday party for Rita and, as they were the only ones among her friends that lived in a place with a backyard rather than an apartment, she had wanted to host the party at their house. Always up for some fun, Yuri had green lit the idea immediately. Though Flynn was supposed to be performing that evening and the one before and would, therefore, not be able to attend, he didn't mind either. He brushed off Estelle's concerns and invited both of them to be his guests for the symphony the night before the party.

Estelle had given them plenty of warning, but Yuri found himself wishing it had been more of a last minute request. Even with a couple weeks to get ready, Flynn was eager for an excuse to crack down on housework. He pestered Yuri about the flotsam and jetsam left behind in the living room after jam sessions and writing binges. He vacuumed and swept and complained when Repede tracked dirt in from the backyard. He scrubbed the bathroom and conscripted Yuri when he decided that the house needed a good dusting.

Wiping down blinds with a wet paper towel, Yuri wondered why he put up with it. They still had five days to go. The house was only going to get dirty again. Judy and Karol were supposed to be over a couple more times before the party to work on some new material. There would be glasses and cans, papers, picks, and pencils, dusty paw prints and bits of gravel scattered all over the place in no time. The smart thing would have been to just let it all go until the day before, then clean everything up at once when entropy wouldn't have enough time to settle in and make its presence known. Yuri didn't think it was that big of a deal. Parties got messy; it was just the way of things. Besides, Estelle was more interested in their backyard. Most of the crowd wouldn't be inside long enough to mind if the house looked lived in.

Flynn didn't see it that way. He actually seemed to _enjoy_ cleaning. Standing next to Yuri, wiping down the blinds over the other living room window, he was smiling faintly and humming. Weirdo.

Not sure if anyone had ever pointed out how strange that was, Yuri felt it his duty to inform Flynn that he was, in fact, weird.

"Do chores always put you in such a good mood, or is there a special place in your heart for the hell that is dusting?"

He laughed a little, and Yuri had to look away from that stupid smile.

"It's a good thing one of us has an appreciation for clean living. It surprises me sometimes that this place hasn't been overrun by pests."

"Depends on how you define 'pest.'"

Flynn shoved him lightly, still smiling even as Yuri took a quick step sideways, knocking into him. "Enough. I'd like to get this done before dinner. I do need to practice some tonight."

"Yeah, yeah. Curry sound good?"

"Wonderful." He was quiet for a moment, then: "Have you always had an interest in cooking?"

His hand slowed its sweep over the blinds as he glanced at Flynn. Questions like that had been coming more and more often lately, questions about his hobbies and his past. Maybe it was just how Flynn got to know people. Most of Yuri's friends were the type to accept him as he was presently and not pay any mind to who he might have been. In his mind, his life was divided into two parts: pre- and post-Niren. Only a few people knew him from before he'd gotten his shit together, but, by and large, his friends knew Yuri the musician, the amateur cook. They didn't know Yuri the juvenile delinquent. He liked it that way, though he tried not to think too hard about what that said about him.

Pushing such thoughts away with a shrug, he turned back to his work. "Better than being stuck eating microwave meals."

"It isn't just that." He sounded irritatingly sure of himself. "You enjoy cooking. Was it something Niren taught you, or—"

"Hey, you've got some dust on your face." He swiped his dirt-encrusted paper towel over Flynn's cheek, leaving a damp, gray smudge.

"Ugh, Yuri!" He tore off a clean paper towel to clean himself off with. "'No comment' would've been a perfectly acceptable response."

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Flynn decided to try again.

"That time we went to a party with Judy and Crash…you sang 'Will the Circle be Unbroken.' Where did you learn it?"

"I don't remember."

The look Flynn shot him was equal parts skepticism and exasperation, but his answer had been technically true. One of the first families that had fostered him had gone church shopping. He remembered them taking him along to some tiny service a couple weeks in a row. There hadn't been forty people in the congregation, and he honestly couldn't remember the name of the church or even where it had been located. He did remember it as being one of his earliest realizations about the power of music. Young or old, fully committed to the faith or still mostly clueless, when the music had started, everybody had joined in the singing. There had been a sense of community he'd found in song that hadn't ever lasted the length of a service, and a feeling of joy, besides. There had been a certain freedom in singing, and, almost contrarily, a feeling of being tied to the people around him.

Though that song wasn't one of the first pieces he'd learned to play, it held a special sort of importance to him through its symbolism. Music let him rise above his circumstances. Music let him connect to people. Those were the lessons he had taken away from his brief experience with religion.

He didn't tell Flynn any of that. He probably could have. Flynn probably would have understood. Something held him back, though. He'd heard Flynn singing the song before. It held a different meaning for him and Yuri wasn't altogether sure he wanted to go comparing those experiences. The idea of discussing things like that made him somehow apprehensive.

Looking for a distraction, he tried to concentrate on the task he'd been set. He deflected questions about his past, turning them aside with jokes or jabs or other questions. His relationship with Flynn still didn't feel like it had set just yet, and that sense of flux coupled with questions about his past made him wary. He wondered idly if kissing him would shut him up. That sort of thing didn't work with Crash, but Flynn was different. It might actually be effective against him.

The thought stayed in the back of his mind, a plaything of his imagination as he scrubbed dust from the last slats of the blinds. It wasn't until he caught himself waiting for Flynn's next question that he actually realized what he was considering. He threw the brakes on that train of thought and finished dusting as quickly as he could. Tossing his paper towel into the trash bag, he escaped into the kitchen. He needed to get his head on straight. He'd had a lot of really good reasons why they ought to remain strictly roommates or, at most, friends. Lately, however, it was getting harder and harder to remember what those reasons were.

* * *

Estelle came over the next day. As the person who best knew Rita's tastes and the designated chef, respectively, she and Yuri were in charge of putting together the menu. She'd brought recipe books and cards from home, and Yuri pulled his off the shelf and spread everything out on the dining room table where they could flip through their paired resources in search of ideas.

"This one looks good." She pointed to a photograph of mini quiches and Yuri pulled the book over to take a closer look.

"You'll have to run interference for me if I make those. Flynn will be in the kitchen trying to help. He doesn't realize how bad he is at cooking."

She took the book back and scanned a few more pages. Several long, quiet moments passed before she spoke again. "What about this one?"

He considered the recipe for pork topped with spiced pears. "I think it sounds good. Flynn wouldn't like it much." It was kind of funny, really. For a guy with no taste buds, he sure was picky about pairing sweet flavors with meat. He flipped to the next page, looking for something else.

"How are you two getting along?"

"Huh?" Where had that come from? "Fine. Why?"

"Well…it seems like everything is going all right now, but after what happened, I just wanted to be sure."

"After _what_ happened?" Had Flynn told her about Sodia? That idiot hadn't realized what was going on, but Estelle might have figured it out.

"After you overheard us talking on the phone. I'm sure that must have been a surprise."

"Nah. I had him pegged as the bad boy type."

Estelle giggled. "You're about as bad as a box of puppies."

"Hey!" He scowled at her, faking offense. Estelle might know better than to be fooled by the metalhead stereotype, but she hadn't been part of his life pre-Niren. She didn't know.

"Anyway, what I meant was that you didn't have any idea about him until that morning."

"You too?" Crash had implied the same: that he'd known about Flynn's little crush long before it had been made apparent to Yuri. "Did everybody know?"

"I doubt it. He wasn't all that obvious. It was just…the way he looked at you changed."

"Are we talking about the same Flynn? Because the one I live with still glares daggers at me on a daily basis."

"You still really haven't noticed? Poor Flynn."

He frisbeed a recipe card at her and she squeaked in protest before sending a few back his way. The scuffle distracted her from any further talk of Flynn, and they were able to get back to planning the menu once they'd picked up the scattered cards. At least, Yuri _tried_ to work on it. Estelle kept glancing at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. He wasn't at all sure what she was looking for, but he had the sinking feeling that he was letting her down.

The thought crossed his mind that she might be disappointed that he didn't return Flynn's feelings. Not normally one to play matchmaker, Estelle had nevertheless put the two of them together and _something_ had sparked. Yuri wasn't altogether sure _what_, but Flynn seemed to have decided all on his own that they had chemistry. Maybe Estelle wished Yuri felt the same because she just wanted them to be happy. Going from roommates to boyfriends wasn't so easy, though. There were all sorts of things that could fuck up their living situation beyond repair. Flynn was a roommate. Not a boyfriend. There was no boyfriend. There wasn't any need for one.

"How are things with Crash?"

"There aren't _things_ with Crash. There's Crash, and there are things, and sometimes they overlap." He wasn't sure where this sudden interest in his sex life was coming from, but he wanted off the subject _immediately_. "How are things with Rita?"

She lit up at that, rosy and eager. Yuri barely hid a wince as he recognized something of Flynn in her expression. He'd seen a similar look directed his way. Was that what she'd meant when she'd said the way Flynn looked at him had changed? Damn. It was much easier to recognize when that expression wasn't focused right on him. Estelle was clearly in love, and Flynn…Flynn was trouble in an entirely different way from what Yuri had expected when he'd first moved in.

Things were more serious than he'd thought.

* * *

Flynn wasn't wrong when he talked about how an orchestra had a way of breathing life into a piece of music. It was rich and airy by turns, and vibrant in a way that always surprised Yuri anew when he attended a live symphony. The experience was like being adrift in a phantom sea, buffeted by shifting, restless waves, surrounded and buoyed by music. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, discarding the sight of the orchestra and the sense of people sitting to either side of him. Sitting there in his self-imposed isolation, the music washed over him, palpable and potent.

Briefly, he wished that his hearing hadn't been so dulled over the years. Usually, he barely noticed, but with his immersion came the reminder that the sound would be sharper, clearer to other members of the audience. He let a wash of humming notes from the string section carry the thought away like a piece of mental flotsam.

Everyone present knew the course of the songs, but it was the difference between seeing the oncoming swell of a wave and being swamped by it. He basked in the feeling of being surrounded so entirely while remaining completely untouched. The air was thick enough with music that, dreamlike, he imagined being able to float away through it. He loved that feeling.

That evening, the concert hall resounded with contemporary pieces. Well-known themes from movies had replaced the compositions of the old masters for a night, an attempt at drawing a younger crowd, perhaps, or maybe simply an exercise in playing different types of music. Yuri didn't mind either way. The pieces played for this performance had their own history and their own strengths, and they'd been granted new life, the familiar remade through the instruments of the orchestra and the people who had come together to forge something singular out of disparate elements.

There was something incredible about the knowledge that an assembly of individuals, each with their own unique talents and thoughts and quirks, had been able to create something so much bigger than themselves, something that reached out and touched the audience and connected them all. It was a feeling he recognized from as far back as when he'd been young enough to be considered worth fostering. It was the power of music, and it flowed into him with every breath, poured into his ears to fill him up until it seemed his heart was afloat in his chest and trembling with the rumbling current of the melody.

It was still a wonder to him, sometimes, how thoroughly music could saturate him, insinuating itself effortlessly into the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, the very cells that built him up. The notes filled the world, as enormous as stars, as microscopic as the molecules of an atom, and he wondered if those old ponderers hadn't been on to something with that 'music of the spheres' business.

Relaxing back against his seat, he thought of Flynn. Did he let himself dissolve into the music? Did he give himself over to the wild ride of a performer's high, or did he try to rein in that energy, control it until it passed on and left him drained and quiet the way he had been at dinner that night after Yuri had first attended one of his concerts?

Curiosity got the better of him and he opened his eyes and found Flynn almost immediately, that spiky hair of his like a starburst under the fierce lights. Eyes closed, smile stretched wide, he stood unusually still amid his black clad fellows. The few times that the two of them had played together, Flynn had loosened up and moved and swayed with the music. Here, now, he was reserved about how he displayed the mastery of his playing, but that same joy was there. Yuri knew that feeling and understood it. He watched Flynn, waiting for the moment when he would open his eyes at the end of the piece, irises startlingly blue, even beneath the bleaching effects of the lights.

* * *

Estelle had brought a bouquet for Flynn. She picked it up at the coat check along with her lacy, white duster, then she and Yuri stepped aside to chat while they waited.

"I'm glad you let me do your hair. It looks nice like that." She reached out to run a finger lightly over the braid that hung over his shoulder, and he wondered briefly if her definition of nice had more to do with 'theater appropriate' or 'human dress-up doll,'

"You have everything you need for the party tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'll be over at ten to set up. Is that still okay?"

"Why so early? You don't trust me to have gotten everything cleaned up properly?"

He grinned at her through the trick question. The house was clean, but only because Flynn had kept up with it. Estelle smiled back and hit him lightly on the arm with her purse. Behind them, someone cleared their throat and they turned to see Flynn, violin case held on one side, Sodia accompanying him on the other. It seemed she'd heard he was performing and had bought herself a ticket, then went straight to find Flynn as soon as the show was over. As the girls were introduced, Yuri, made freshly aware by the conversation he'd had with Estelle over the recipe books, caught Flynn sneaking glances at him. It didn't escape Sodia's notice, either, judging by the glare she shot him. Yuri ignored her and clapped Flynn on the shoulder.

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to be a _classical_ violinist."

It took him a moment to get it, then he smiled brightly over the flowers. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

"Not what I expected, but pretty cool. When's your next—"

"Can you believe that?"

Both of them turned to look at Sodia, who brushed at her pristine black dress and crossed her arms over her chest. She indicated a group of teenagers dressed in jeans and t-shirts with a jerk of her chin.

"It's ridiculous how people can't even be bothered to dress up properly when they attend a symphony. They might as well have shown up in a food service uniform."

She looked Yuri straight in the eye for that last bit, and smiled thinly. Estelle and Flynn exchanged uncomfortable looks, but didn't say anything about it. Instead, Flynn tried—clumsily—to change the subject.

"So, where should we go for dinner?"

"What about—"

Sodia actually interrupted Estelle, stepping right past her to address Flynn directly. "There's one place I've really been wanting to try. Why don't we go to the Atria?"

Again, there was a quick exchange of uncomfortable looks. It was almost funny that Flynn and Estelle couldn't see through Sodia's ploy. A restaurant she'd been wanting to try. Right. Sure. And mathcore was a genre Yuri'd been meaning to look into.

"We can't go there, actually." Flynn sounded a little too relieved, and Yuri wondered what excuse he'd come up with. "The Atria has a dress code. Yuri would need a dinner jacket. Maybe another ti—"

"Why don't you just lend me yours?"

The expression Flynn made almost set Yuri laughing, but he managed to hold back and fix a smirk on his face.

"I don't…."

"You brought a change for after the show, right? Just stick with what you've got and loan me your spare. We'll ask them for a bib for you, if you're worried about staining your fancy tux."

"I…suppose." Flynn glanced uncertainly at Sodia, maybe hoping that she would change her mind at the last minute. When she remained silent, he took a step away from the group. "I need to change my undershirt, at least. Give me a few minutes. I left my things in one of the rooms backstage."

He hurried off, leaving Yuri and the two girls to make strained conversation in his absence. Luckily, Sodia's phone went off and she excused herself, stepping away to answer. As soon as she was out of earshot, Estelle gave Yuri her full attention.

"Are you sure you don't mind going in to work on your night off? I know you're going as a customer, but…."

"It's fine. It'll be nice to have a chance to grab a meal there and relax afterward for once."

Soon enough, Flynn was back. He had his hands full between his violin, the bouquet, and his garment bag and he handed most of it off to Estelle before holding out his dinner jacket by the lapels. If he hadn't caught Sodia looking, Yuri would have just taken the jacket and put it on by himself. Not in the mood to overlook a little payback, however, he allowed Flynn to hold it up as he slipped his arms into the sleeves, smirking as he felt hands smoothing down wrinkles over his shoulders.

Flynn stepped around in front of him, oblivious to Sodia's jealous stare, and continued making little adjustments, brushing away bits of lint only apparent to him and tugging the hem and lapels to be sure everything lay right. He met Yuri's eyes for just a second too long and blushed as he stepped away. Obviously, Yuri hadn't been the only one with ulterior motives. Flynn's hands had been quick and gentle, alighting on his body like birds and fluttering swiftly on from one spot to the next. It hadn't been at all like the normal contact that passed between them, and Yuri couldn't help wondering how long he would have lingered without an audience, without that bit of eye contact that had reminded him that they were nothing more than roommates.

They split up outside the concert hall, each heading back to the vehicles they'd arrived in and planning to meet up at the Atria. Estelle had picked Yuri up and, as they walked to her car, Yuri's mind kept returning to the feel of hands fussing with his clothes. He wondered how Flynn would touch him, given the chance: if he would be gentle or if he was the type to get rough in the bedroom. Yuri was betting on rough. He realized he was grinning at the thought and stopped before Estelle could catch him at it and ask awkward questions. Flynn was just a roommate, he reminded himself, not a fuck buddy.

But why not? They fought regularly and got along just fine—better even than when Flynn had been trying to hold back all his anger and be civil. Would sex make such a difference? It hadn't been an issue with Crash…but then, Crash made a habit out of avoiding issues.

The question sat in the back of his mind for the rest of the evening, and he watched Flynn surreptitiously, wondering if it could be worth it to open that particular Pandora's box.

* * *

After dinner, Yuri rode home with Flynn. He watched Estelle leave as Sodia reluctantly left Flynn's side after extracting a promise that he would show her around the city on Sunday. All too soon, the girls were gone, leaving him to slide reluctantly into the passenger seat of Flynn's car with an unsettled feeling slithering through his gut. The petty revenge on Sodia was over, the curiosity about Flynn's proclivities had faded. All that was left was the feeling Yuri got when he knew he stood at a crossroads. It was a little like standing at the very edge of a stage, knowing that he could throw himself forward and hope to be caught by the crowd, or that he could stay right where he stood and not have to place his trust in anyone but himself. Flynn was a temptation, an unknown, and Yuri laughed at himself to think that he'd believed he'd had the giant question mark sitting beside him in the car figured out weeks ago.

He should have ordered dessert. He wanted something sweet.

"You and Sodia seemed to get along pretty well. I thought she might have been embarrassed by what she'd said back at the theater, once she saw the other waiters. Thank you for being civil about it."

"Why shouldn't I have been? There something wrong about working in food service?"

"No," he said quickly. "That's not what I meant."

He smiled tightly as he eyed Flynn sideways. Sodia and he hadn't gotten along. The debates they'd had over dinner had been nothing but verbal sniping, the volleys of point and counterpoint barbed and dripping with scorn.

It had been obvious enough to Estelle, but she'd always been more than usually empathetic. When Sodia and Yuri's arguing had gotten to be too much for her, she'd forcibly changed the subject, although Yuri couldn't say that had made things much better.

The only thing that three quarters of the group had in common was Flynn, and the discussion had switched over to the good old days they'd had together back in high school. Yuri was left sitting mostly quiet on the sidelines. He didn't know the people they were talking about, and most of his own stories from those years weren't the same tone as the anecdotes Flynn and Estelle laughed over. Sodia gloated quietly, taking pleasure in chatting up Flynn about things Yuri couldn't comment on. She had monopolized him through most of the meal. Flynn hadn't even noticed, the idiot.

"Do you…." Flynn trailed off and Yuri watched his hands on the steering wheel, how they slid over the smooth curve, how they flexed with the changing force of his grip. "When you argue with other people, is it always like that? The way you were with Sodia, I mean. And with Crash."

"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific." He slumped and stared out the window. Did it really look the same, to him?

"You don't…. When you argue with them, you don't get mad. Estelle told me the same thing, once. When you and I fight, though…."

"What can I say? I guess you bring out the worst in me."

That hadn't been fair. Yuri _enjoyed_ being able to cut loose with Flynn, and he knew it went both ways. Better to push him away, though, he thought as he caught the little frown, the tightening grip on the wheel. Easier if he would get over his little crush and settle for just being the roommate. Yuri couldn't possibly be what Flynn was really looking for, and Yuri just plain wasn't looking. He watched the streetlights wink past.

"Is there anything else we need for the party tomorrow?"

"No."

"Anything we need to pick up before going home?"

_Why are you trying to drag this out? _He shook his head and pulled off the jacket Flynn had helped him into earlier. It got tossed into the backseat, bundled up around all the strange little ways his traitorous mind kept comparing the evening to an awkward date.

Flynn slowed to a stop at a light. There was a Burger King up ahead. "You want a shake?"

_Really_ should have gotten dessert at the restaurant. "…Yes."

He was a little worried that they'd be parking and going in. The last thing he wanted was to be sitting in a deserted fast food joint with Flynn just then. Thankfully, they pulled into the drive through lane. Flynn ordered a soda and a shake and paid for both of them, despite Yuri's protests. The relief of staying in the car was short lived, as Flynn drove around and parked, actually shutting off the engine to signal that they wouldn't be leaving in a hurry. Yuri stabbed his straw down into his shake and sucked. The sugar made him feel a little better.

"I'm really glad you came tonight," Flynn said quietly. "Thank you."

"Yeah. Any time." He wondered if music filled Flynn up the same way it did him, and decided that it must.

"I know it isn't what you normally listen to."

Yuri sighed and took a long sip of his shake. The car felt too small, and he was sick of being judged over his music. "I don't remember the name of the church where I first heard that song."

"Huh?"

"A few days ago, you asked me where I'd learned 'Will the Circle be Unbroken.' I wasn't exactly lying when I said I didn't remember. I couldn't tell you what the church was called, or where it was, or even what denomination it was. All I remember about it is that song."

_Not exactly the music I normally listen to, is it?_

"You used to attend service with your family?"

"With _a_ family." Flynn didn't pursue the correction, though Yuri was certain it would only be a matter of time until his curiosity got the better of him. "It was like that night at the party, out on the porch. That's my religion. Music."

He looked away out through the window and up at the fluorescent-lit, matte black of the sky. He felt silly saying it out loud. It wasn't a thought he'd ever voiced before, more a truth he carried in the center of his chest, the place where music hummed right through him, the place where he figured his soul ought to be. He jabbed his straw around in his shake and took another long drink.

"The church of metal?"

Glancing over, he saw that Flynn was smiling softly. No offense meant. Not doubting him, only teasing a little. He smiled back.

"I like to think I'm largely nondenominational."

Metal was his preferred genre of expression, of creativity, of connection, but he'd seen community forged time and again through all sorts of different kinds of music. Anything that brought people together held a special kind of power, something close enough to spiritual that Yuri no longer bothered differentiating. Music made people human.

"I'll save you a ticket next time, too, then."

"Cool."

He meant it. He meant it with real gratitude, and he wanted Flynn to know that. He wanted Flynn to know that any music made with heart in it, with passion and a will to connect with people, really meant something to him. He wanted Flynn to know how he'd felt that evening, sitting in the audience with the music all around him and within him, and he wanted to be right when he thought that Flynn felt the same when he listened.

He didn't know how to say all that, though, and he washed away any thoughts of trying with a long sip of his shake.

They sat and finished up their drinks and complained about how big projects and papers for different classes were always due at the same time because of how the semester was broken down. Weighty subjects were set aside and things were easy between them, relaxed. Yuri only wished that he didn't have to keep telling himself that that was the way it ought to be.

He'd decided to let Flynn move in based on Estelle's recommendation, Repede's approval, and his own gut instinct. Now, though it sure as hell wasn't ideal, he'd found that he liked having Flynn around. Not only that, but Yuri didn't know anybody else in need of a place to stay that he would trust enough to let move in. He'd worked hard to have a roof over his head, and he wasn't sure the risk of fucking that up was worth changing where things stood between himself and Flynn. He'd seen too many people that had been locked out of their apartments or gotten home to find that an angry ex had stolen or slashed up their furniture. Flynn wasn't that type, but Yuri knew that when breakups went bad, they got nasty. He didn't want to deal with that apparent inevitability. He didn't want to end up hating Flynn.

* * *

…thrumming guitar, the chords of the bass revving like a false start before gaining purchase and taking off, catching up to the drums and pacing them, now racing, now falling back….

Yuri woke from a dream with music on his mind, the melody running through his brain and spilling out his ears to fade away in the early morning darkness. He had to capture it, pin it down, and he groped for one of the pens he kept on the windowsill above his bed, half blind with only the ambient light of a suburban night to guide him. Almost as soon as he had pen in hand, he was writing, scribbling frantically on the wall. Notes, phrases—he managed to salvage the tail end of the composition from his waking dream, anchoring it with ink on dingy, chipping paint. Old Scratch was barely within reach, and he hauled the guitar out of its case. He had a starting point, enough to build from consciously.

Reaching for his amp, he caught sight of his alarm clock and the time. Three twenty-three. Flynn would have a fit if Yuri woke him.

He played without the amp, building up the dulled notes in his mind from experience and imagining the way they would sound when played properly. Pausing every now and again, he added to the song inscribed on the wall. He drummed with his pen on the windowsill and panes—a poor excuse for Karol's drumming—and hummed a baseline, slurring together the notes that would be Judy's part in Dragon Swarm's new song. In seemingly no time at all, he had fashioned a skeletal framework for the entire piece, held together here and there with ligament riffs and bass muscles. When he had enough put together that it could stand on its own and was no longer in any danger of fading away against the coming dawn, he set Old Scratch aside and rubbed his suddenly aching neck.

A glance at the clock told him that nearly two hours had passed and he sighed, knowing he would have to put off working any further. Later on, he could flesh it out, give it some life and some bite. Old Scratch went back into its case, and Yuri hunkered down under the covers, suddenly weary as if his burst of REM sleep-inspired creativity had siphoned off all the energy he'd have stored up from what little rest he'd gotten. Songs didn't usually come to him in flashes like that and, as he drifted off, he wondered if it was Flynn's fault: if something from the concert had triggered it, or if he'd dredged up something with his questions about the past….

* * *

He was running through darkness, heart pounding like Karol's drums, but it wasn't enough; he couldn't breathe. His feet slipped, and, when he reached out to catch himself, the surface that met his hand was soft and yielding. The light filtering in was deep red and palpable, and what little air he could suck into his lungs was unbearably hot and humid. Somebody grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Yuri tried to turn, but he couldn't pull his arm back to get in a decent first hit, there was something pressing in behind him and his legs were caught….

"Rise and shine, sleepy head."

"Estelle?"

Blinking away the blurriness, he saw that it had only been his friend pulling him up out of a bad dream. With a sigh, he sagged back into the tangle of sheets he'd nearly pulled from his mattress as he slept. Morning streamed in through his window, the light white and cool, and he breathed deeply as his heart calmed.

Estelle stood up, beaming expectantly down at him. Behind her hovered Flynn, sheepish and uncertain.

"I'm here to set up for the party. Come on. I need your help, too. Time to get up and get dressed!"

He groaned something that she must have taken for agreement, because she left the room. Flynn watched her go, then took a couple steps closer and spoke softly.

"I'm sorry. I know you were up late working on a song."

"Mm?" He glanced at the clock, forgetting the numbers immediately. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"I know."

It was too early for the amount of fondness in that smile, and Yuri groaned as he rolled over onto his stomach.

"Don't go back to sleep. She'll only come wake you up again."

He gave Flynn a thumbs up, just to get him to leave, and waited until he heard the sound of receding footsteps and the quiet click of his door. With a single, resigned 'fuck' muttered into his pillow, he forced himself to get up and get ready.

* * *

Most of the day of Rita's birthday party passed in a blur. Originally, Yuri had thought that ten in the morning was far too early to be making the sorts of preparations Estelle wanted, but getting everything set up just right took longer than he'd expected. For one thing, she enlisted Flynn's help to pick up some folding tables that she hadn't been able to fit in her car. Yuri took advantage of the time they were gone to get showered, which woke him up a little bit, and have some coffee and a bit of breakfast, which mostly finished the job. By the time they made it back, he felt like a functional human being again. Good thing, because Flynn and Estelle both decided that it was their job to boss him around.

Yuri spent the next few hours thoroughly cleaning house under Flynn's direct supervision and helping to set up the backyard according to Estelle's instructions. She'd brought over a party tent, which she set up just outside the back door. The tables were arranged beneath it and set with decorative jar candles that would ward off bugs. Yuri helped her hang patio lights from the center of the tent out towards its four corners. There weren't many chairs, but she'd brought picnic blankets to spread on the lawn, along with paper plates and napkins, and plastic cups and flatware.

Somehow, between the two of them, he found time to make a few preparations for the food. They'd settled on chicken and vegetable kebabs as well as mini burgers—small, snacky foods that would be quick to cook. Yuri had agreed to man the grill, and he was eager to get as much of the prep work as possible out of the way. He mixed up the ground beef with spices, fresh minced garlic, and Worcestershire sauce, then portioned out and formed patties, which he carefully stacked in wax paper before sealing up and putting them in the fridge. He washed carrots and celery and broccoli for a vegetable and dip tray. There would be radishes, too, but they would have to wait. He wanted to cut them into roses—Estelle would like that—and it would be best to do that shortly before the guests began arriving at four.

Dessert would be parfaits—easy enough to put together, and people could add what they wanted. He washed berries and cut up pineapple. He cubed the sheet cakes he'd made—chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. He mixed up a batch of fresh whipped cream and put it in the fridge to chill. Estelle had brought nuts, chocolate candies, and coconut, which would be set out in bowls when it came time for the guests to build their desserts.

There were a million tiny details. Between cleaning, arranging, prep work, and all the little tasks each of those involved, the day flew by. Before Yuri knew it, Flynn was getting ready to leave for his concert. He'd been worried about his car getting blocked in and had planned to leave shortly before the guests were set to arrive. Yuri heated up the grill early and fixed him a couple sliders and a kebab, since he hadn't noticed Flynn take the time for a proper meal amid all that was going on.

"Sit down and eat," Yuri ordered.

He'd caught Flynn trying to sweep the dining room—which didn't need it—and he shoved the plate of food at him and practically pushed him into a chair. As Yuri returned to the kitchen to begin making the radish rosettes, Flynn looked at the plate in his hands, visibly surprised for a moment, before he smiled and settled down to eat.

"It's very good. Thank you."

Yuri waved off the compliment. "Can't have you collapsing on stage."

"How's your song coming?" The question was slightly muffled by a mouthful of food.

"Hm?" He'd swiped a beer from one of the coolers out back and opened it up to take a drink.

"The one you were working on this morning."

"Oh. Bare bones right now. I think it'll shape up pretty well, though." He finished up a rosette and tossed it into an empty section of the vegetable platter. "How do you like that set you've been playing?" When he glanced up, Flynn was smiling around a mouthful of kebab. The answer was a moment in coming.

"It's…a little different. The pieces don't feel the same, but there's still power in the music. The audience seems to like it. We've had a bigger turnout for this show."

"Still getting a message across?"

"I'm not sure about that. The music we've been playing is expressive, but…it's out of context."

"Sometimes you gotta learn to just sit back and enjoy it."

"You want your songs to speak to people. It's the same for me."

He smiled. Flynn had him, there. "Do you write music, too?"

Again, there was a pause before the answer. This time, it was because Flynn was choosing what to say.

"I've tried. I'm not very good at it so far, although there is one I've been working on…."

"Yeah?"

"When it's finished…will you let me play it for you?"

"I get to be the first to hear it? Absolutely!"

Flynn looked more pleased by that than Yuri really thought he should have, but in the next second, he checked his watch and was suddenly hurrying to get up from the table.

"I've got to finish getting ready. Thank you for the food."

He stuffed the last half a slider into his mouth and threw away his empty paper plate before disappearing into his room and leaving Yuri to finish his work and his drink. Flynn left soon after, just before guests began arriving and Yuri was pulled into the role of host. Time sped up again as he chatted or sent guests along to the backyard where snacks waited and gifts would be opened later. He had a bit of fun when Rita arrived, and he got to escort her through the house and announce her to a round of cheers and 'Happy birthday!'s from the growing crowd. Her face went bright red. She socked Yuri in the side and went to go find Estelle.

By the time most everyone had arrived, it was time to begin cooking up some real food, and Yuri took up his station at the grill. Karol and Judy hung around to chat for a bit, and Crash wandered over to say hello and toss back a few jell-o shots with him. He wanted to know if Yuri would be heading over to his place after the party, but Yuri turned him down, He said it was because he was already beat, which was _true_, but not the truth. Crash knew something was up, but he didn't push. He never did. He just wandered off into the small crowd. Later on, when Yuri saw him chatting up a good-looking redhead, he silently wished him luck. Maybe in a few days they'd hook up again. For the time being, however, Crash was on his own.

When the hungry crowd had mostly settled in to eat and socialize, Yuri retreated to the kitchen. He could hear Karol drumming away in the living room. He'd attracted a few fans, and Yuri smiled to himself as he raided the parfait supplies and fixed himself some dessert. Estelle would be wanting all the fixings brought out to one of the tables set up out back soon, but Yuri could feel his sleepless night catching up with him. The sugar helped, though not much, and he decided that, once things were set up for people to make their own parfaits, he was going to take a nap. The party would carry on just fine without him and, if he slept through the end of it, Flynn could sort out the last of it when he got back.

It took him longer than expected to keep that promise to himself. He ended up having another beer while he stuck around to be sure that the fruit and nuts didn't run out, and even ended up making a second batch of whipped cream, yawning all the while. When he was certain that everyone had been fed and that he wouldn't be missed, he slipped back inside.

The light was on in his room, and someone had closed the door. He would have walked right in on whoever it was, except he recognized Estelle's voice just in time.

"…you to have a happy birthday."

"You didn't have to go this far for something so simple. You just made a lot of extra work for yourself."

"It's been fun, though, right? You looked like you were enjoying the party."

"I-it was all right."

"Happy birthday, Rita."

They went quiet then, and Yuri could too easily imagine why they'd stopped talking. He smiled a little, then covered a yawn as he walked away. Estelle wouldn't get too carried away in his room, so he figured he could trust them with a little privacy.

Yuri was about to open Flynn's door when Crash stepped out of the bathroom. He paused, watching Yuri for a moment before speaking up.

"Hey, man…you doing okay?"

"Up late working on a song." He yawned again, almost missing Crash's response.

"All week?"

"Hmm?"

"Never mind. I'll catch you later, yeah?"

Nodding, Yuri watched him head back to the party. Sleep was calling. He let himself into Flynn's room and flopped down onto the bed. Flynn could kick him out when he got home that evening.

* * *

When he first started to wake up, Yuri wasn't sure where he was. He groaned softly, curling in tight under the covers, and the sound that had pulled him out of his sleep, the wood on wood sound of a chest of drawers, stopped. Not his bed. Rummaging through drawers. Had to be Crash's house.

"Crash." He yawned hugely and felt his jaw pop. "Coffee."

There was a pause long enough for him to wonder if he ought to bother asking again or simply go back to sleep, then he heard Flynn's voice.

"Crash went home last night."

_Oh, shit._ Yuri went very still under the blanket, trying frantically to remember what had happened last night and how he had ended up in Flynn's bed. He hadn't had _that_ much to drink and he was pretty sure he'd headed for his own room when he'd started feeling tired. So, why had he…? Oh. Oh, right. His room had been occupied.

Smiling, he relaxed. Nothing had happened. Damn. That would have been the perfect excuse.

Too many thoughts like that, lately. Probably ought to go.

Snuggling a little deeper into his cozy nest, he risked peeking out from beneath the covers. Flynn was bare-chested and still wearing yesterday's jeans. It made for a pleasant sight first thing in the morning. He pulled on an undershirt and the thin fabric, the way its shadows hinted at the very nice body beneath was, if anything, somehow even more enticing.

Throwing back the covers, Yuri stretched. Through half-lidded eyes, he caught Flynn staring. It was several long seconds before those baby blues traveled all the way up his body to meet his smirk, and Flynn turned away pretty damn quick when he saw that he'd been caught. Such a Boy Scout.

"If you don't mind, I'd like my room back. I need to get dressed."

"No one's stopping you." He shifted to get a better view. Turnabout was fair play…not that he necessarily believed in playing fair.

"Yuri…."

"You could join me, instead."

Flynn went very still, watching him closely. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

Yuri grinned. He wasn't suggesting anything Flynn hadn't already thought about. It was just that it seemed like maybe letting things get a bit more interesting between them wouldn't be the disaster he'd originally figured it would be.

He took a step forward, then hesitated. "What about Crash?"

"What about him?"

Rolling back into the mound of pillows, Yuri stared up at the ceiling. Crash was a good friend, but as far as fuck buddies went, he was kind of boring. He didn't like playing rough, and Yuri was pretty sure that if he ever actually lost his temper and took a swing at Crash that that'd be it for them. Flynn might be the best of both worlds. He enjoyed their fights and he was interested. Be nice to have someone he didn't have to hold back with, and he really was getting sick of holding back.

"Get out of my room."

The chilly tone of his voice was completely unexpected. When he looked over, Flynn had turned away. The sudden change was startling and he sat up, wondering if he'd somehow misjudged the situation. He'd thought Flynn was still interested. He'd sure looked that way a minute ago.

"Don't tell me you were just window shopping this whole time."

"I asked you to leave."

Flynn still wasn't turning around, and Yuri hopped off the bed, yanking his shirt back down over his stomach. Not sure what had gone wrong, he racked his brain trying to figure out what had happened. They'd been getting along. He hadn't honestly pissed Flynn off for some time. So, why the rejection?

He'd almost made the door, when he heard Flynn mutter: "I thought you were better than that."

The words stopped him in his tracks. If Flynn was looking for a fight, he was going to get one. Yuri had no qualms about obliging him when he was so obviously asking for it. He turned slowly, curling his fingers into loose fists at his sides.

"You want to run that by me again?"

"You heard me. Will anyone do, as long as it's convenient?"

Yuri rushed him. Flynn was only just turning around and half caught the wild charge, swinging them around to slam Yuri up against the wall and knock the wind out of him. After that, it didn't take much for Flynn to shove him halfway across the room and come barreling into him while he was still off balance. Yuri went stumbling backward out into the hall where he fell, cracking the back of his head against the wall opposite the door.

For a moment, Flynn loomed over him, barely even breathing hard. "Stay out of my room," he said, and slammed the door shut. Yuri winced as the lock clicked into place, and he gingerly rubbed the back of his head as he got to his feet.

"Asshole!"

He'd thought that Flynn had gotten over his bout of the crazies. Obviously, he'd been wrong.

"What the _fuck_ was that about?" he muttered, heading for his room, "Asshole."

He dropped down onto the edge of his bed, but couldn't bring himself to lie down and go back to sleep. He was filled with a nervous, jittery energy that burned beneath his skin. His hands were shaking.

The words kept running through his head. _Anyone, as long as it's convenient?_ It was impossible to push them away, and he surged to his feet to pace the confines of his room. He'd been called a lot worse by a lot of worse people in the past, and he'd always shrugged it off or beat the crap out of whoever had been tossing insults his way. The implication in Flynn's question shouldn't have gotten any more than a laugh out of him. He shouldn't have lost his cool like that. He should have been able to cast the unspoken accusation aside like it didn't matter.

It _didn't_ matter.

It didn't.

Snatching his wallet and keys off his desk, he stormed out of his room, slamming the door behind him. He didn't bother with his helmet, and he slammed the front door shut on his way out, and the storm door, too, for good measure.

Fuck Flynn, anyway. What the hell did he know? Probably saving himself for marriage or something, like the good little Boy Scout he was.

"Asshole."

Revving the engine of his motorcycle, he peeled out in a small spray of gravel. He hoped it dinged the hell out of Flynn's perfect little shiny car.

* * *

There was a gas station where Yuri often left his motorcycle when he just wanted to wander the streets of downtown Zaphias or take a walk through the park. The old man behind the counter raised an eyebrow when he bought a bottle of hard lemonade that early in the day, but didn't say anything. Wasn't worth his time to, anyway. Yuri had baked cakes with more alcohol in them. Outside, he popped the cap off and took a sip, noticing as he did a customer at one of the pumps with a unique hairstyle. Sodia was filling up her Jeep. She slotted the nozzle back into place and closed up her gas tank as Yuri paused on his way past.

"Going to visit Flynn? If you hurry, you might be able to convince him to run away with you."

Eying the bottle in his hand, she sneered. "I can't believe he even associates with someone like you."

"No need to get nasty. It's not my fault I've got a better shot at getting into his pants than you do."

Sodia didn't raise a hand to slap him; she came at him with a mean right hook. Yuri fell back a step and the lemonade sloshed out over his hand. He turned her next punch aside and grabbed her wrist on the third. It was tricky with the bottle in his hand, but he managed to twist her arm up behind her. He had one brief moment of satisfaction before she threw her head back, bashing her skull against his nose.

The lemonade dropped to the pavement as he shoved her away and stumbled back, hands flying up to cover his bleeding nose. Somebody grabbed him from behind, restraining rather than helping, and he lashed out before looking. He'd barely missed decking a surprised looking cop, and the guy's partner—a regrettably familiar face who was doubtless thrilled to have an excuse to lay into him—was only a step behind. Behind him, he heard the slam of a car door and the rumble of an engine as the cops roughly handcuffed him and hustled him off toward their squad car. They didn't even pretend to consider going after Sodia, just read him his rights as blood dripped freely over his mouth and chin.


	8. House of Cards

A/N: Well, that happened.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are (mostly) from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

Yuri, Flynn decided, could just go fuck himself. After what had happened that morning, he was seriously considering giving up and moving out. It was difficult enough living with someone he had unrequited feelings for, but to have that someone make a pass at him without any deeper meaning behind it aside wanting to get laid was too much. Yuri had crossed a line. If he was actually going to return Flynn's feelings, if he was willing to break up with Crash and try to build an actual relationship, that was one thing. To suggest what he had on a whim, though, without any regard for Flynn or even Crash was…was beyond what he'd thought Yuri capable of. He'd _defended_ Yuri. He'd thought he was a good person. He'd thought he was worthy of trust.

Flynn felt like an idiot.

He finished getting dressed and checked the clock. It was almost eleven, which meant that Sodia would be arriving within an hour. A bitter smile twisted his lips. He had wanted her to be able to get to know Yuri. He wasn't stupid enough to think that she wasn't talking to his mother about what was going on, but he'd hoped to be able to sway her to his side, to make her an ally his mother might actually listen to. He'd thought that if maybe he could get his mother to see _Yuri_ past all her prejudices and distrust that maybe she would relent. Maybe she would understand. No chance of that now. Yuri had spoiled it.

Had Yuri cheated on Crash before? How many times? Flynn had spoken up for him when his mother had insinuated that he slept around, but had that been the truth?

He couldn't start thinking that way. He was angry, yes, and he had every right to be, but that didn't mean he ought to go leaping to conclusions. Maybe it had just been a spur of the moment impulse, just an isolated mistake.

Yeah, right. He'd asked so easily and dismissed Crash like he didn't even matter. He had been so casual about it all.

It could have been a joke, though. Maybe he hadn't been serious. Maybe Flynn had missed the cues when he'd lost his temper. If he had just laughed it off rather than gotten angry….

But Yuri had been unabashedly flirting with him. He'd stretched himself out to give Flynn a good look, watched like a hawk as he'd started to change…. He remembered seeing Yuri's fingers splayed out over the bed _come, sit_ and the way his hair had fallen over his face as he'd cocked his head to the side _join me_ and licked his lips, showing off that beguiling flash of silver. He'd been within Flynn's reach, less than a thought away because a thought was what had given Flynn pause. He could have kept his mouth shut, ignored worries about Crash and right and wrong and just enjoyed it. He could have kissed Yuri, tasted him, taken him right then and there—

That wasn't what he wanted, though. He didn't want Yuri for sex. He wanted more than that from him, and he was made freshly miserable by the realization that he wasn't going to get it.

* * *

His thoughts continuously dragged him away from the present through most of Sodia's visit. They sat at the dining room table and made a light lunch out of leftovers from the party as they talked about what parts of Zaphias Sodia wanted Flynn to take her to see. He thought he managed to be cheerful enough, but every bite of the food Yuri had prepared reminded him of their most recent argument and the troubles between them that only ever seemed to change shape rather than diminish.

Honestly, with everything going on between them, he couldn't imagine why Yuri had gone to sleep in his bed. Well, he could imagine. He could imagine that Yuri had been harboring a real attraction, that maybe, deep down, he wanted Flynn, too, and maybe a few drinks at the party had sent him to Flynn's bed rather than his own.

It had been a shock when he'd come home to find Yuri nestled in his sheets. The party hadn't even been over, and Flynn had closed up his room and gone out to play host until the house was empty of all but its occupants. When he had checked, he'd found that Yuri was still asleep. It hadn't been that he didn't have the heart to wake him, but that he hadn't want to chase him away and lose that unexpected sign of trust and acceptance.

Instead, he'd bedded down on the couch. He'd borrowed one of Yuri's pillows, but the smell of sweat and shampoo and cigarette smoke that clung to it had kept him awake and he'd eventually been forced to push it off onto the floor and make do without. His neck was still sore, and he flexed his shoulders as he rubbed it.

"Flynn? Are you all right?"

"Huh?" He realized that he was grimacing and smiled for her. "Sorry. I just didn't sleep well. No big deal. Let me get my keys, and we can go."

Even as he drove her down toward the park and tried to point out landmarks and places of interest, he kept slipping into the Yuri-shaped imprint of the city. A favorite restaurant, an ad on the side of a bus for the community college he attended, a convenience store he frequented…the topography of Zaphias now held a thousand distracting little reminders that it was home to Yuri Lowell.

Luckily, Sodia seemed quieter than usual, as well. She wasn't normally particularly outspoken unless she was debating her point of view, and, as the two of them agreed on most things, that made for fairly pleasant conversations and companionable silences. He hoped the quiet between them that morning could pass for the latter.

It was a little easier to forget about Yuri once they were walking through the park. Flynn had been there with him only twice before, and they'd gone straight to the old amphitheater both times. He took Sodia along the paths to the lake and the more recently constructed amphitheater. Couples and families were milling around, though most of them had congregated at the tables near the shore. Walking among them with Sodia, Flynn realized that he looked normal, that if his mother could see him then, that she would approve. The thought made him feel vaguely disingenuous, as though he were trying to pass himself off as something he was not. He tried to shake it off. He was only showing an old friend around the city. He'd had outings with Yuri that felt much more like dates.

"Too bad you didn't bring your violin," Sodia said, looking up at the amphitheater.

Flynn had to agree. He eyed the curved hood overhanging the stage, a wall built specially to catch and direct and amplify sounds. The acoustics would be so much better here than they had been in that grassy depression where the metalheads had played.

He took her through the downtown area, past shops and cafes, colorful small businesses that gave the city some flair. They passed by Don Whitehorse's store, and Flynn was glad that Sodia didn't insist on going in. He wasn't so full of himself to think that Whitehorse would remember him from ZaFest, but it was probably better to avoid tempting fate. He didn't want to talk about Yuri.

They returned to the car and he took her to his campus and showed her around. She was impressed by the statuary, the bas-reliefs and the soaring columns, though Flynn felt it was all a bit much. Though it was a Sunday, the campus wasn't deserted. There were students who lived in the dorms and socialized on the university grounds. There were groups meeting to practice and clubs gathering to pursue shared interests. Bursts of laughter and music rose above the rustle of the wind among the leaves. They walked the entire campus, relaxing in the easygoing, Sunday afternoon atmosphere, and Flynn only thought of Yuri once or twice the whole time they were there.

Once Sodia had seen all there was to see of St. Martel's, they drove back into the city for an early dinner. Both of their moods had improved by then, and they talked as they waited for their food. Sodia was considering a career in the police force, and hearing her talk about it stirred something in Flynn.

Although he'd always loved music and knew he could be happy making a living as a violinist, there was another part of him that wanted to do something that really made a difference. He'd used to talk about becoming a police officer when he was young, but those aspirations had all but died out with his father. Now, sitting across from Sodia and listening to her talk about how she was preparing for her career, he thought again about the possibility. It was the more practical choice than hoping he was talented enough to make his living as a violinist, and he couldn't deny that he was more excited about the idea than scared, despite what he knew of his father's death. Still…still….

He thought of the feel of his violin in his hands, the pull of the bow across the strings and the way the notes resonated through his instrument, through him. He recalled the simple happiness of playing by himself or for friends, and the joy of sharing the fruits of his hard work with an audience. It wasn't something he could give up.

* * *

A familiar, dusty purple Trans Am was sitting in the driveway when they returned to the house, and Flynn had to park on the grass to avoid blocking Sodia in. She looked even more surprised to see Crash than Flynn was, though with no blue motorcycle to signal Yuri's return, there was really no reason for him to be there. Flynn walked Sodia to her car and said a quick goodbye, then made his way up to the house and his unexpected guest.

Crash was sitting on the porch step, smoking and sunning himself in the last of the afternoon's fading light. He stubbed out his cigarette on the concrete as Flynn approached, and leaned aside to let him pass, then stood up, prepared to follow him inside.

"Yuri isn't here." Flynn hoped that stating the obvious would serve as a deterrent. It didn't, of course.

"Yeah, I know. He asked me to come by and feed Repede for him."

Of course. That way, he could remain in hiding at Crash's place.

Flynn's keys bit harshly into his palm as he shoved the door open. Without any invitation, Crash showed himself in and went straight to the laundry room and its door leading to the backyard. Moments later, before Flynn had even made it to his room, Repede came charging up to him, grinning his wolfish grin as he welcomed him home. Kneeling to scratch between his pointy ears, Flynn heard the rattle of dog food being poured into a bowl.

"Hey, you mind feeding him tomorrow?" Crash asked. "I've got this thing going on."

"Tell Yuri to come do it. Repede is his dog." He leaned in close, murmuring: "He doesn't deserve you, huh? You're too good for him."

"Dude, if Yuri could come, I wouldn't be here."

Looking up, he saw Crash lounging in the laundry room doorway, watching him. His hands slowed their strokes over thick fur.

"What do you mean '_if_ he could come?' Where is he?" He didn't have a gig; Flynn would have known. Why couldn't he…?

"Got arrested this morning. Cops don't let you run home to feed your pet."

"He _what_?" Flynn surged to his feet, gaping. "What happened?"

"I dunno. Some misdemeanor, he said. Drunk and disorderly, I think."

"How long are they holding him? What's his bail set at? No, it's a fine for that, isn't it? How much?"

"I don't know, man. He asked me to feed his dog, not bail him out."

"So you just _left_ him there?"

"Well…yeah." He didn't even have the decency to look as if he'd done something wrong. "Look, money's tight, and he wasn't asking for help getting out early. They're only gonna hold him for a day or two."

Flynn couldn't believe what he was hearing. "He's your _boyfriend_," he managed, as if stating the fact would make Crash realize that he needed to do something more than just feed Yuri's dog for him.

Before he could think twice about it, he was rushing into his room. There was a little bit of emergency cash in his sock drawer, and he pulled it out and stuffed it into his pocket. Hopefully, it would be enough to cover the fine.

What the hell had Yuri been thinking? As soon as they were back home, Flynn was going to kick his ass.

Crash blocked his way when he tried to leave. Not in any mood to deal with him or that huge, mocking grin, Flynn shoved past.

"Leave," he said, wanting to add on a demand that he never return. "I'm going out."

"Think you've got the wrong idea." Crash followed him down the hall, in no hurry whatsoever.

"If you aren't going to go get him—"

"Yuri and I aren't dating."

It took him a moment to realize what had prompted the non sequitur, and he stopped where he was, turning to face Crash. "But—"

"In common parlance, the arrangement between Yuri and myself would be described as: 'friends with benefits.'"

"You're…?"

He grinned his lazy grin. "He'd call us 'fuck buddies,' but that's always seemed kinda harsh, don't you think?" He stuffed his hands down into his pockets and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. "We cool now?"

Flynn had absolutely no idea what to say in response to that, and he turned his back on Crash and the question. "I've got to go." _Someone_ needed to get Yuri out of jail.

* * *

Two hours later, Yuri was slouched in the passenger seat of Flynn's car for the ride home. He hadn't been particularly grateful, which shouldn't have come as any surprise, really. Thankfully, he hadn't been drunk, either. Flynn had gotten the whole story from the rookie Yuri had nearly punched, and he wasn't sure if he was angrier with Yuri or the policeman who had cuffed and charged him. Yuri was the more immediate target.

"You're lucky the one officer didn't want to press charges."

He wasn't, really. The police didn't actually have much of a case. The rookie had forgotten to announce himself before grabbing Yuri from behind, meaning Yuri hadn't realized his "attacker" was a police officer. He had neither been drunk, nor the instigator of the fight. Really, the senior officer should have been written up for taking things so far, but Flynn had gotten the impression that Yuri wasn't as unfamiliar with the jail's holding cells as Flynn would have liked, and there was certainly a history between him and the officer responsible for the trumped-up charges. He'd even gone so far as to impound Yuri's motorcycle. Flynn had had enough to pay the fine that got Yuri released, but he'd drawn the line at the bike.

As unfair as the consequences had been, Yuri had still been drinking in public—before noon!—and he'd picked a fight in front of a pair of police officers. Flynn felt that a little anger was justified.

"What were you even doing, drinking so early in the day?"

"It was hard lemonade, not vodka. Can't even get buzzed off that stuff." He was barely eyelevel with the window, and staring resolutely out at the city.

"Who was the girl? The one you picked a fight with. I hope she was at least someone you knew, and that you weren't terrorizing random strangers."

"She thinks I stole her boyfriend."

"You didn't, really?"

"Relax. I didn't sleep with him."

Flynn almost had enough time to be relieved before Yuri added: "He turned me down."

Groaning, he resisted the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel.

"I didn't ask you to come bail me out."

"I am well aware of that."

He had to force himself to relax his grip on the steering wheel, but that tension kept returning, welling up in him until his knuckles went white and he had to deliberately unclench his fingers. Yuri stirred, the mood in the car not lost on him. Eventually, however, he felt compelled to break the silence.

"Why'd you come to get me?"

"You have to ask?"

"Estelle thinks that you honestly, seriously like me."

Why now? Why did he want to have that conversation while Flynn was so upset with him and still reeling from the way Crash's admission changed the meaning of what had happened that morning? He sighed, knowing that if he didn't seize the chance, there might not be another.

"More and more, despite myself."

There was silence between them for a couple long minutes until Yuri once more felt compelled to speak.

"…Not gonna ask if there's a chance it could work out?"

"My day has been crappy enough, thanks."

"Look, if you want to move out—"

"I don't." It was an immediate response, but, sadly, probably not the most intelligent one. "I don't know," he amended. "Maybe. Do you want me to stay?"

"Stay or go—it's up to you. If you're expecting me to beg you not to leave, you may as well drop me off here and let me walk home."

The light before them turned red and Flynn locked the doors as he slowed to a stop. Of course he wasn't expecting Yuri to beg. They both knew that. All he wanted was to know that Yuri wanted him to stay. He stared into the cherry glow of the stoplight as he asked: "Am I not even worth that much to you?"

"You expected better?"

There was a bite to his words that Flynn hadn't heard from him before. He sounded sulky and defensive, and he'd hitched his shoulder up, turning even further away. It hit him all of a sudden that he'd actually _insulted_ Yuri that morning, and he wondered now if the story about propositioning the girl's boyfriend had really been true, or just a jab at him.

"I didn't mean that."

"Pretty sure you did. Don't make yourself a liar on my account."

"For God's sake, Yuri!" He hit the gas harder than he'd meant, and the car jumped forward, pushing them back against their seats. "When I said that, I thought…." He took a deep breath. Bad enough that Crash had gotten a laugh at his expense. Now Yuri would get his turn. "I thought you and Crash were dating. I thought you were trying to cheat on him."

"Just keep digging that hole deeper," he said, but Flynn had risked a glance over and could see that the corner of his mouth was quirked upwards. No sooner had he turned back to the road, than a snort of repressed laughter erupted beside him, followed by Yuri's voice, thick with amusement. "Idiot."

"How was I supposed to know? You get along with him a lot better than you do with me!"

He snorted again, derisively this time. "Crash won't fight with me. You're a hell of a lot more fun."

"Does that mean you don't want me to move out?"

He didn't answer right away and, when he did speak up, Flynn wasn't sure he wouldn't have preferred the silence.

"I won't tell you to go, but I won't ask you to stay, either."

His heart sank. He hadn't even realized that hope had begun to buoy it once more.

On the way back to the house, Flynn stopped off at a convenience store and picked up a couple of the magazines that listed local houses and apartments for rent. It was time to move on.


	9. Crossroads

A/N: Yeah, that sucked last time, huh? I don't think Flynn had ever given up on Yuri in one of my stories before this one. Can't really blame him, though.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are (mostly) from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

"So, when's he moving out?"

Yuri turned away from the movie he hadn't really been watching on Crash's TV. They'd been sitting on the futon couch for over an hour, and those were the first words that had passed between them since the film had started. He watched as Crash stubbed out his cigarette in a kitschy, skull-and-snakes ashtray. He didn't really look like he cared. His attention was so focused on the screen that he barely looked like he realized he'd spoken. Yuri knew better. Crash had probably watched the movie a hundred times over. He didn't need to pay attention to it, but it was a nice illusion. It made it seem like the question wasn't all that important. Yuri looked back up at the TV.

"Next Monday."

"Got a place lined up?"

"Apartment complex across town. Hell of a lot closer to his school." He could see Crash nodding in his peripheral vision.

"Roommate?"

"Don't know.

"Guess it'll be 'so long' except for parties and gigs."

Yuri didn't say anything to that. Flynn wasn't going to be coming to any more of either. Why should he? He'd spent a couple months slumming alongside the metal crowd, and now he was going back to his ivory tower.

"He's an interesting one, though. If he was a bit more like you, he'd've been great for my movie: the high-minded scientist who has to go punch aliens to save his girlfriend when his transdimensional thingamabob goes nuts."

The thought brought a tiny smile to Yuri's lips. "You don't think Flynn could punch aliens? He may be an overgrown Boy Scout, but he's got a temper on him."

"Nah, that's not the problem. It's that he can't act worth a damn. You remember when he brought that girl over to your place?" He laughed. "I felt so bad for her, 'cause you could tell he was totally oblivious."

"Better be careful about laughing at her. She's pretty scary."

"Yeah?" When Yuri didn't expand on that, Crash shrugged. "I guess you'd know about having a scary follower."

"What she wants from Flynn is a hell of a lot different from what Zagi wants from me."

"Oh, hey, small world!"

"What?" He regarded Crash's sudden enthusiasm with all due suspicion.

"So, I just realized: Zagi got kicked out of his house and you replaced him with Flynn, who'd been kicked out of _his_ house by his mom who goes to the same salon as Zagi." He grinned. "Small world."

That small world was going to get a lot bigger as soon as Flynn moved out. Yuri wondered what the odds of them running into each other on accident were. Not great, that was for sure. Zaphias was a big city, and there wasn't much cause for Flynn to stop by any of Yuri's haunts. Probably wouldn't bother reserving a ticket to his next concert, either, even though he'd promised. Yuri supposed that he couldn't really blame him for that, though.

He stood up and stretched, and the movement finally pulled Crash's eyes away from the movie.

"I'm gonna head home."

"You're not staying?"

"Maybe next time."

"This is the next time."

"Maybe next next time."

Crash shrugged. "See you later, then."

Yuri waved as he walked out of the room, but Crash was already focused once more on the action onscreen.

* * *

When he got home, Yuri paused just outside the front door to listen. There was no violin that night, either. Flynn hadn't been playing so much lately, and Yuri found that he missed it. During those first few weeks, it had been sort of annoying, particularly when he would be trying to work on a new song and something Flynn was practicing would get stuck in his head. He'd come to enjoy it, though. Flynn played with both skill and passion. Yuri respected that. Admired it, even. The silence was strange. It was a reminder that things weren't all right, and weren't going to turn out all right. It was silent because Flynn was packing to move out.

He made as much noise as he could when he came in, aware that he was being childish, but not really caring. If it filled in that silence, it was worth it. He came very near to slamming the door, threw the chain lock, kicked his boots off against the wall, shook out his coat and flung it over a chair, tossed his keys onto the table with a clatter. He snatched up a discarded plastic bag and shook it open, let it flutter in the air before he began tossing empty cans and beer bottles into it. He shoved in paper plates, rattled them around as if trying to force them to fit. He crumpled up papers and threw picks and pens and coins into a messy pile.

When the living room table was mostly clean, he tied the straining bag shut and carried it into the kitchen where he flung it to the floor next to the trashcan. A few dishes sat in the sink, and he turned on the faucet full blast, soaped up a sponge and set to scrubbing. Once everything was dripping onto a dishcloth beside the sink, he turned off the water.

Silence fell heavy around him, pressing in on his eardrums, until it was ripped away by the rubbery screech of packing tape being pulled from a roll. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. He paced restlessly around the house before finally, inevitably, he ended up outside Flynn's door.

Standing awkwardly in the spill of light that flooded the hallway, he didn't look at Flynn, didn't even look directly into the room cluttered with boxes broken down and waiting or already filled and sealed. He'd caught enough glimpses over the past few days.

"Do you have plans this weekend?" He sounded normal when he asked, but he didn't feel normal. He felt flat. He felt like it didn't really matter, or wouldn't unless Flynn brushed him off, told him to go mind his own business.

"I'm getting ready to move."

"Right. I just…." This was so stupid. "You'd said you wanted to go camping some time." Once Flynn left, that would be it for any chance of friendship. Both of them knew it.

He was quiet long enough that Yuri regretted even having brought it up. What sense did it make to drag this out any longer? Flynn was leaving. End of story.

"All right. Let's go camping, then."

Yuri kept his surprise to himself, just nodded a little. "We'll leave Saturday morning and come back Sunday night."

"All right."

There was a hesitant pause that neither of them could—or would—fill. Yuri hated the silence.

"Guess I'll leave you to it." He turned and walked away. Flynn didn't stop him, but then, Yuri hadn't expected him to.

Retreating to his room, he left the door cracked a little wider than usual. He pulled out his headphones and a favorite CD, got some music going and laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling until he dozed off.

* * *

The weather was absolutely perfect that weekend: sunny and clear and just a little too warm in the city, but that would make the cooler temperatures up in the mountains all the more enjoyable. Flynn drove, of course. There'd been a weirdly subdued sort of tension between them ever since he'd decided to move out, and Yuri was half tempted to sit in the back with Repede. However, if Flynn, with his terrible track record in dealing with repression, could pretend that every thing was fine, then so could Yuri. They put on a mix CD of metal and classical and, as Yuri watched the urban scenery change to rural while listening to orchestral scores, as Flynn jokingly headbanged along to some tech death, they smiled and laughed and forgot for a while that they weren't really friends, just fractious roommates, and soon wouldn't even be that.

He directed Flynn out of the city and its suburbs, through half remembered roads. It surprised him how similar the drive felt to when he used to ride up with Niren, the stereo blasting classic rock and early metal. He rolled down the window to let his hair blow back, and wondered if he would regret taking Flynn camping. Niren was in all his memories of the campsite they were going to, and Niren was gone. In a few days, Flynn wouldn't be a part of his life anymore, either. In the corner of his eye, he could see Anemone's case in the back seat. He'd brought her along knowing it would be a farewell trip. Squeezing his eyes shut against the wind, he drew a breath and roared along with the current track.

Neighborhoods became sparser, giving way to isolated houses with huge yards. There were few shops or restaurants along this stretch, though they passed a sketchy-looking gas station next to the best meat-and-three place Yuri had ever eaten at. They would have to stop on the way back. It was traditional.

Eventually, the houses were almost completely replaced by trees, and the roads sloped upwards more often than not. Thin, white clouds stretched themselves lazily across the horizon, but the sky behind them was still a bright, sunny blue. By then, Repede knew where they were headed and was trying his best to wriggle into the front seat and Yuri's lap. Chuckling, Flynn reached over to ruffle his fur before rolling down the rear windows for him.

Not long after that, they came to the winding roads that would lead to the campsite. The one they would be staying at was a short hike up a trail from where they would have to park, but it was cupped in a dip between two mountains, surrounded by trees and bordered by a river. It held some of the happiest memories of Yuri's life, gone bittersweet with loss and time.

When they arrived, the campsite was just as Yuri remembered it, although the last visitors had left a mess. Garbage and beer cans littered the sandy area around the fire pit along with a host of cigarette butts. Flynn suggested that they find someplace else, having seen cleaner sites on the way up, but Repede had already dashed off into the woods to explore, and Yuri simply pulled a trash bag out of the supplies they'd carried up and set to work putting the site in order. He picked up empty cigarette packs, plastic cups and paper plates, snack baggies and wadded up aluminum foil. A Styrofoam cooler had been left smashed and dusty in the shadow of the small cliff face that backed the site. Beside it, Yuri spotted a used condom.

Glancing quickly at Flynn to be sure he hadn't noticed, Yuri used a stick to fling it into the depths of the trash bag. He scoured the rest of the campsite extra thoroughly after that. Although they'd been getting along all right on the surface, there was no sense reminding Flynn unnecessarily of that particular bone of contention between them.

They'd managed to carry almost everything up, and after going back for the bag of snacks and their water, Flynn took it upon himself to begin arranging their gear while Yuri handled the trash. He left the tent, their backpacks and sleeping bags next to the cliff face, only moments after Yuri had moved on. The cooler and bags of food ended up with the cooking gear—a small cook stove, a tripod, a kettle, pot, and pan, and an aluminum meal set—near the fire pit. There wasn't really a whole lot he could do, and when he started to set up the tent, Yuri paused in his own task.

"Don't bother with that."

"What?" He looked from the sagging folds of cloth in his hands to Yuri. "Why not?"

"We don't need it. I only brought it in case of rain."

"What are we supposed to sleep in?"

"The sleeping bags." He tried to tell Flynn with tone and expression exactly how stupid that question had been.

Flynn frowned and turned away. "I'm pitching the tent."

Yuri almost choked on a laugh, remembering just too late to completely stifle the sound. What he could see of Flynn's face had gone bright red, and he barely caught a muttered: "Not what I meant." They ignored each other for a few minutes until the campsite was set to rights, and the fun part of camping could begin in earnest. Licking his lips, Yuri got to work piling up logs and kindling to get the fire started.

"Isn't it too early for that?"

"Never too early for s'mores."

He grinned from where he knelt by the fire pit, then struck a match and set the kindling alight. He fed in desiccated twigs and dried bits of wood, watching as the flames licked up the sides of the larger logs and caught. In no time at all, he had a small fire going. The bag of snacks yielded a box of graham crackers, a pack of chocolate bars, and the biggest bag of marshmallows Yuri had been able to find. He ate one plain before unwrapping the rest of his ingredients and skewering several more marshmallows on a twiggy branch he'd picked up for just that purpose. Flynn came over as he was setting the marshmallows alight, nabbing the graham crackers before taking a seat on one of the large rocks ranged around the fire pit.

Once he'd judged his marshmallows appropriately flambéed—charcoaled outsides around melty centers—he pulled them from the fire and blew each of them out. Three of them got sandwiched with chocolate between a couple graham crackers, and they split and oozed as he bit into his treat. He had to twist this way and that to keep blobs of melted marshmallow from dropping to the ground, and his hands were a sticky mess by the time he'd finished the s'more.

As he licked the gooey white remains from between his fingers, he made the mistake of glancing at Flynn. Flushed and slack-jawed, the expression on his face made Yuri realize suddenly what he must look like, and he dropped his hands away from his mouth in a flash.

Paper towels, he was sure he'd brought a roll of paper towels. Where the _fuck_ was it?

"Messier than I remembered," he said, tearing off a paper towel. "S'mores, I mean," he added quickly.

"Yeah." The response wasn't quite short enough to hide the strangeness in his voice. He pulled another graham cracker out of the pouch and nibbled it, avoiding Yuri's eyes.

"Don't eat all those plain. They're for s'mores."

Arching a brow, Flynn managed to wordlessly convey his disbelief that Yuri would even consider making more after that display. "I don't like s'mores," he said.

"What kind of person doesn't like s'mores? Gimmie those," he said, grabbing away the box. "I bet I can make you one you'll like."

He dug out the jar of peanut butter he'd packed. Flynn didn't like sweets, so maybe replacing the chocolate would do it for him. He spread the grahams with peanut butter and charred a marshmallow to go between. Pressing it together, he passed it to Flynn.

"Eat."

Flynn took an exaggeratedly careful bite, but with only one marshmallow, it wasn't going to ooze the way Yuri's had. "Not bad. It needs something, though." He perked up. "Did we bring the Tabasco?"

"Heathen."

Yuri turned away, unwilling to be part of snack sacrilege, as Flynn began digging through the food bag. Repede returned and Yuri gave him a graham cracker dipped in peanut butter, then set about charring some more marshmallows. He made sure the paper towels were close at hand.

They got to talking. Flynn had gone backyard camping with his father when he was very young, a few summer nights spent in a cheap tent pitched on their lawn. They'd made shadow puppets and Flynn's dad had pointed out the few constellations he'd known and made up the rest. Flynn couldn't remember most of them. He knew there had been a whale, and a song about it that his father had sung, but the details had been lost over time. He'd spent a week one summer at camp, but that had been cabins and restrooms—not real camping.

Yuri had only been camping with Niren, and usually at the same spot he'd now brought Flynn to. That first trip had been the first time he'd ever even left the city, though he'd since gone on road trips: usually with Crash—who didn't camp—but once with Judy and Karol to a music fest the next city over. They'd all been fun trips in various ways, but camping with Niren had always been a learning experience. He'd taught Yuri how to build a decent campfire, how to fish and lay snares, a bit about fighting and a bit about surviving. He'd taught him how to play the guitar, and he'd taught him that not all authority figures were power tripping assholes and that some people could be trusted. He'd shown Yuri that he wasn't a bad kid, and made him want to be a better person.

Of course, Yuri didn't tell Flynn all of that. The personal lessons he'd learned from Niren would remain personal, his secret, but he didn't so much mind sharing anecdotes of fishing and fighting and stories that Niren had told by firelight.

Before he knew it, the afternoon had faded mostly away. As much as he wanted to bring out Anemone and play a few songs, he knew that, if they wanted to take even a short hike that day, they had to get moving. Besides, if he was going to watch the sun set, he wanted to do it from the top of the cliff. The whole valley was visible from up there.

Briefly, he described the short hike and the view waiting at the end of it to Flynn. It wasn't to be missed, and he carefully banked the fire as Flynn put away the food and pulled out a couple fresh bottles of water in preparation to go. It wasn't cool enough for the flannel jacket he'd brought, though Flynn tied his coat around his waist. It was such an unusually careless way to treat his clothes that it brought a crooked smile to Yuri's face as they set off.

Repede trotted along with them on the trail until Yuri picked up a stick and tossed it off among the trees for him to fetch. They kept up the game as they walked, and Repede didn't seem to mind who he brought the stick back to. Yuri took to flinging it harder, further off into the woods, hoping that Repede would get distracted along the way or tire of the game. It bothered Yuri to watch him getting along with Flynn so well when everything was about to change.

They followed the trail without a care for the noise they made, the crunch of dry leaves and the snap of twigs, the thudding of their boots, and, most of all, their voices, out of place in the seemingly empty mountains. Conversation spiked and subsided sporadically as they walked. Yuri pointed out plants he recognized: mountain laurel and mulberry bushes, poison oak and ivy. He had never seen anything larger than a deer or more dangerous than a fox in the area, and he trusted that Repede would let them know if anything came near that they ought to be wary of. The woods smelled of damp earth and leaf litter, of pine and oak and the sharp, wintry smell of the river. They brought with them the warm, smoky smell of the campfire and, occasionally, whiffs of the mundane: deodorant, detergent, shampoo.

The path turned back on itself, winding up the slope of the cliff cradling their campsite. In places, it had been cut into steps, the erosion of which had been thwarted by the placement of logs well moored in the packed earth. It was an easy trail, something meant for fair weather campers come for a brief taste of nature without too many inconveniences. Yuri had been deeper into the woods a few times with Niren, off the beaten path and far from any sign of man's influence, but that had only been a few times, and he hadn't wanted this trip to be difficult. One last set of fond memories, or at least they would seem so, looking back.

It wasn't easy between him and Flynn, or simple, but when he remembered this trip, he would remember the way the light shone through the trees, golden as Anemone's polished sheen. He would remember making s'mores that Flynn would actually eat, and seeing him and Repede grinning over a game of fetch. It would be a sunset memory, like all the ones with Niren—warm, but tinged with a sense of things ending, of time slipping away. The difference was that, with Niren, Yuri hadn't known how quickly it was slipping away. That knowledge had only attached itself to the memories after it was too late to secure all the little details against time's eroding current.

With Flynn, he wasn't sure he wanted to remember too clearly. It would be like looking straight into the sun. It would be painful. Best to keep it soft and rosy-toned so there would be no hard feelings at the end.

The trees thinned out as they neared the top of the small cliff and, eventually, the trail led to a clearing, bare rock replacing the dirt high over the valley they'd driven through. The view was every bit as spectacular as Yuri remembered. Sunlight poured thick and golden as honey into the deep green depression cupped in a broken bowl of gray mountains. The valley was soft-edged by the forest spread across it and, every now and again, glimpses of the same river that flowed past their campsite could be seen winking like shards of glass amid the trees. Below them, they could see a crescent of their campsite and, a little further down, a corner of the parking lot for hikers and day-trippers where Flynn had left his car.

Already, the sky behind them was growing dim and beginning to show off its stars. Yuri fixed his eyes on the brightly dyed horizon. He watched the shadows as they fed off the dying light of the sun, growing deeper and sharper, changing shape, filling the valley as smoothly as the light had poured in. He watched the sun's rays play across the mountainsides, thinking that if gods made shadow puppets, that's how they'd do it.

Glancing over, he noticed that Flynn's fingers were moving at his side, the motions a simplified version of guiding a bow over strings. There was music in his head. Yuri wondered what he'd conjured up to go with the sunset. He didn't ask.

They watched over the valley in silence, studying the light and the textures, picking out little details: the stark bluish-white of a house on the edge of a shadowed clearing, horses at pasture, the smoke rising up from a campfire, birds in flight below them. Flynn had his music to accompany the view, and Yuri had his thoughts. Repede was the only one of them bored by it all. He had flopped down with a huff, tail flopping listlessly as he waited for his humans to do something.

His _human_. Soon, there would only be the one again.

Eventually, the sun dissolved away. The stars had come out to keep the moon company, and the Milky Way cut across the sky like the smoke of some great, celestial campfire. Though the heaves shone, it was still dark among the trees. Yuri had brought a flashlight, which he passed off to Flynn, preferring to make his way without it as best he could. Something about the quality of the light made the woods look artificial where the beam fell upon them. The flashlights he and Niren had used had had a softer, yellowier glow. Or maybe his memories had gone dingy with age, browning around the edges like the pages of old paperbacks. After all, he hadn't remembered quite how strikingly green the valley was, or the numerous shades of blue and white marbling through the mountains.

They didn't play fetch on the way back. Though Repede seemed to resent the decision at first, he soon came to keep pace with Yuri, walking so close that he was practically underfoot. Yuri kept one hand on his fur, scratching his head or petting his ears. He felt like he needed the company, just then. Walking back to camp, he felt like that would be the last time he would ever watch the sun set from that cliff.

It was a stupid thing to be concerned about. Karol and Judy would probably love to go camping, and he was willing to bet Estelle would enjoy it, too. Even if nobody else wanted to join him, he could always come back on his own. He'd either have to borrow a car or have Crash watch Repede while he was gone, but there wasn't anything to keep him from coming back. Not really.

Reason was useless by then, however. The melancholy thought had sunk his spirits, though he tried to perk up once they cleared the trees and were back in their campsite. Flynn probably wouldn't have picked up on it, anyway, having started a game of tug of war with Repede over a stick. Yuri built up the fire once again and set up the tripod, which would suspend the pot of rice over the flames. Just because they were camping didn't mean they would be living off of s'mores and peanut butter. Atop the bag of ice in the cooler was a package of stew beef he'd frozen back home. He pulled it out, not quite thawed all the way through, and set it near the fire. The rest of the ingredients for dinner were buried in the snack bag—canned potatoes and carrots and the curry spices—and Yuri licked his lips as he pulled them out, his earlier gloom already being pushed aside by the familiarity of cooking and the promise of a good meal. Humans really were simple creatures.

He got the cook stove ready and poured a little bit of oil into the pan he'd brought. When it was hot, he tipped in the beef, stirring it, turning it, letting it brown a bit before adding the carrots and potatoes and spices. The smell of curry filled the air, and Yuri wasn't the only one whose stomach was growling. Though he tried to shoo them away, Flynn and Repede kept crowding back in. Repede's head was practically on Yuri's lap, and Flynn was sitting a bit too close, as well. He didn't seem to notice, and Yuri didn't say anything. It would have been awkward. Besides, he didn't really mind.

Once the food was ready, boundaries were automatically reinstated, and they spread out, each with their own plate of rice and curry. Yuri built up the fire a bit more, watching it throw off sparks as logs splintered and bits of dry debris caught flame. It beat hot and dry against his face. He'd probably let it get much bigger than they needed, but it would die down a bit before he turned in.

Setting aside his plate once he was done, he leaned back and looked up at the sky. He was full and a little sleepy and a bit too warm. Luckily, he knew just how to wake himself up, and he shot a grin across at Flynn.

"Want to go for a swim?"

"What?"

"I'm gonna go for a swim in the river. You want to come?"

The look Flynn fixed him with was skeptical and full of what Yuri could only interpret as urban mistrust for nature's ability to keep itself clean.

"Come on. It's fine. There are only a few leeches, and the water spiders aren't _that_ big."

"I think I'll pass," he said, smiling a little to say he knew Yuri was kidding. "I brought a book with me, just in case."

Yuri shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He pulled a towel out of his backpack and whistled for Repede. They stepped out of the campfire's light and into the woods, leaving Flynn behind.

The river was a much shorter walk away than their earlier hike to the top of the cliff, and they arrived after only a couple minutes among the trees. At the point where it ran past their campsite, the river grew sluggish and wide, deep enough to swim in, though not so deep that Yuri wouldn't be able to wade across the rocky bottom. The trees hugged the bank to either side, their leaves made silvery by the light of the moon hanging low and bright in the sky. The stars were as he remembered, numerous enough to make the whole night sky shimmer.

Yuri took a deep breath and sighed, glad he'd come back, glad he'd been shown this place years ago. He missed Niren, but it wasn't as if he couldn't remember him, talk to him. Sometimes, he could even guess what advice he'd have been given had the old soldier still been around. He was sure at least, in that peaceful moment, in that familiar place, that Niren would be proud of him.

He shook off thoughts of the past. There was a beautiful, serene, moonlit river in front of him, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to go for a swim and upset the tranquility of the place a bit. He grinned down at Repede.

"Ready to go skinny dipping?"

Dropping his towel, Yuri shed his clothes and dashed across the narrow riverbank into the water, yelping at the temperature and shattering the quiet of the night. He was in the water up to his thighs before he stopped, laughing and shivering, inwardly trying to shrink away from his skin as if it was some separate boundary to the chill river.

"Shit, that's cold!"

His fingers hovered over the dark and shining surface, probing tentatively and scattering droplets. He walked further out, letting the water rise up past his waist and further, over his stomach. Taking a deep breath, Yuri jumped and tucked up his legs underneath himself. He dropped beneath the water's surface. The soft, burbling rumble of the current filled his ears, and he felt it tugging gently at him. His legs had mostly adjusted, but the cold was a shock over his chest and face, and he surfaced quickly, gasping and energized. When he could draw breath steadily again, he let out a 'whoop!' into the night.

He felt wide-awake and jittery, like he'd had too many iced coffees. Water was flowing freely from his hair, and the slightest breeze made him shiver.

Repede was standing in the shallows, tail waving gently as he stared back into the trees. He wasn't on guard, and Yuri took a few steps closer, confident that if his attention had been caught by something dangerous, Repede would let him know.

"You hear a deer or something, pal?" He stopped at a point where the water flowed low around his hips. Bits of him wouldn't enjoy being exposed with the breeze picking up like it was. "What's the matter? You wish Flynn had come with us? You miss him?"

The instant he asked the question, he regretted it. There would be plenty of time to miss Flynn after tomorrow.

"Come play with me," he called, splashing. Another few seconds and Repede turned away from the woods and came to join him.

They spent the better part of an hour splashing and swimming and tackling each other into the water. By the time he came ashore, Yuri was chilled and shivering so badly that he could barely towel off and dress. Repede knew enough to move a few feet away to shake off the water, and was none the worse for wear after having been soaked. He almost seemed to be grinning as they made their way back through the trees to where Flynn waited, focused intently on a kettle hung from the tripod over the fire.

The aroma of coffee was filling the clearing, riding on wood smoke and pine, and Yuri made a beeline for the fireside, hands held out in front of him. He soaked up the warmth greedily as Flynn fixed them mugs of hot coffee. Yuri accepted his gratefully, curling around it, savoring the warmth in his hands almost as much as the sweet flavor. Flynn hadn't skimped on the sugar. When he smiled his thanks, however, Flynn jumped a little and turned away.

He avoided Yuri's stare, fiddling with his mug for a moment before asking quietly: "How was your swim?"

Was he regretting having agreed to come camping? Feeling left out? Should Yuri have tried harder to get him to come down to the river?

"Good," Yuri said. "You should have joined us."

"I was too busy reenacting the blunder of Actaeon," Flynn muttered into his coffee.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

They drank quietly after that. Yuri had settled with his back to the fire to hasten the drying of his hair, and he felt its heat beating against his back through towel and tee. He set his mug aside when he'd finished and braced himself on his arms, leaning back to look up at the stars. Repede lay next to him, belly to the flames. Flynn was just barely in the corner of his vision and, after several minutes, the sensation of eyes on him had become nearly as intense as the warmth of the flames. The silence was getting to him again.

"Nice out here, isn't it?"

"…Yes. The sky is much brighter than I'd expected."

"There are…" He did a quick count. "…ten constellations in that patch of sky right now."

"You're messing with me."

He grinned. "Scout's honor. I showed you a few, though they might be a bit harder to pick out, now."

Having successfully transferred Flynn's attention, Yuri pointed out stars and filled in the heavens with dot-to-dot frameworks. He built up shapes, figures, stories in the sky. As he went from constellation to constellation, he could almost imagine that Niren was there with them, lying just out of sight and listening to Yuri pass on some of his knowledge. Before that moment, he hadn't realized quite how badly he'd needed to return to that place. He had something important to do.

After a while, all the oldest hidden pictures had been pointed out and their stories briefly told, and the three of them remained, quiet and still and far removed from the passing world. Although time shouldn't have mattered so much there under the stars, Yuri could feel it pressing in on him, slipping past, as gentle and inexorable a current as the river's had been. He knew he had to get up, knew he had to do what he'd really come there for, but he was reluctant to leave the peace of the moment, reluctant to let go. When Flynn yawned he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. It wouldn't have been right with only him and Repede. He needed a witness. An audience.

Abruptly, he stood, and Flynn turned to watch him as he walked away from the concentrated glow of the campfire.

"Yuri?"

He returned without answer, Anemone held close, and Repede came to sit next to him as he took a seat on one of the rocks ranged around the fire pit. Flynn held his peace as Yuri tuned up, maybe sensing the mood, or maybe just displaying his usual respect for music. Either way, Yuri was grateful for it. He couldn't explain just yet, but he needed Flynn to listen. With a deep breath, he settled himself and began playing a song he'd written years ago and never performed.

Beginning was complicated, not because of the notes involved, but because of what they had meant to him when he'd written them and what they had come to mean to him. He had played the song many, many times over the years, but always when he was alone, always when there was no one except Repede who might overhear. His practices with it had grown fewer and farther between over time, but his fingers still knew the patterns and pauses and if the notes came out a little too hesitant or in quick, anxious rushes, it was because of what he now traded to play it there, in that place, with the best of his memories crowded 'round like a fog of specters.

It was doubtful the particular song would mean much to anyone else. Without context, it was little more than a piece of music styled after classic rock when it had been on the cusp of forming what would become heavy metal. For Yuri, it was a piece of his life that he'd never quite left behind. He recognized the old bitterness and anger in his arrangement of the notes, and he tried to smooth it over as he played, no longer stuck with those unwarranted feelings of betrayal. The bridge sounded sadder than he remembered, and he left it as he'd originally intended. This was a requiem, after all.

He bobbed with the music, eyes heavy-lidded, though he wasn't really looking down at Anemone, or anything else in the clearing, for that matter. He had the song in his head, the progression, the return to the chorus. It was a simple piece, but that was where his focus lay. Anemone was a bright golden patch in the darkness, his fingers a blur of movement over her strings. The song was the only thing that was sharply, clearly real.

Yuri played for what he'd learned and what he'd lost. He played for who he had been and who he'd wanted to become. He played for Niren, as likely to be present in spirit there, that night, as anywhere else. His fingers danced over the strings, coming soon to the chorus one last time, slow at first, but building up to finish strong. One last 'thank you' to the old soldier, one last shout out to the first person who'd ever given a damn.

Anemone was flawless. Niren would have loved to be able to hear Yuri perform with her. He would have been proud.

When he finished, he allowed a minute for the sounds of the natural world to flow back in—the wind in the leaves, the crickets, the faint rush of the river—before he stood up and went to latch Anemone back into her case. He returned to the fireside with his sleeping bag and unrolled it, then stretched himself out on top of it and stared up into the sky.

Flynn hadn't said a word. He must have realized that something was up, that Yuri hadn't been just playing on a whim. His silence was expectant, and Yuri owed him an explanation.

"I wrote that after Niren died," he said to the stars. "Never got around to playing it before now. Didn't feel right, performing it to a mound of dirt and some fake flowers."

He relaxed into the thin cushion of the sleeping bag. It had taken him a long time to say goodbye.

"You've had hints about me—from the cops at the park at least, and I bet the ones at the station had a few things to say, too. You know about Niren. You must be curious." He paused. His eyes were still fixed heavenward, but he could feel Flynn's gaze on him. "I'll tell you if you want to know."

It was a little like picking at a scab. He'd covered over that time in his life with something approaching socially acceptable, but now he was offering to peel back that layer and show Flynn what was underneath. He wanted Flynn to ask, actually, wanted to find out if he would be driven away by what he would hear.

"It's your own story. Tell it in your own time. I don't mind waiting."

"You sure? There might not be another chance later on." He'd managed to sound much more unconcerned than he actually felt, and he congratulated himself for that.

"You aren't being fair. You wouldn't ask me to stay, but now you want me to ask you about your past?"

"How about a trade, then?" He kept his sight trained on the moon, studying its pits and craters and streaks rather than the accusation he was sure would be shining from Flynn's eyes. "One important question for another."

"What's your question?"

He drew a breath, licked his lips, avoided Flynn's eyes. "What would it take to make you want to stay?"

Abruptly, Flynn got to his feet. Yuri listened to the soft crunch of dirt beneath his soles as he took several hurried steps away, listened to him hesitate and pace and pause and, finally, sigh.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?"

He did know. He didn't bother answering.

"I'm packed to move. I've already put down a deposit on the apartment. I have a roommate request posted on the student message board on campus."

"If it's too late, you can just say so."

"What would make me stay?" He appeared suddenly, looming between Yuri and the fire, blocking out the low-hanging moon and haloed by stars. "If you wanted me the same way I want you. _That's_ what it would take. And I don't mean as a roommate, or a friend, or even as whatever you have with Crash. I want…. I want _you_." The agitation in him burned out and he sank to his knees. Much as he wanted to, and despite not being able to see Flynn's face clearly, Yuri couldn't look away. "I want to play music with you and fight with you and I want to be able to _touch_ you."

Slowly, carefully, Flynn reached out and brushed a damp lock of hair out of Yuri's face. Those abnormally gentle fingers slipped past his temple and tickled over the curve of his ear. Yuri shivered.

"I want to be _special_ to you. I want us to support each other. I want something _real_."

The faint pressure of his fingers remained for a moment longer just below Yuri's ear. He wasn't sure if he wanted to turn his face into that touch or away from it.

"That's a tall order."

Though Flynn was backlit and his features obscured by shadow, Yuri could still see the dejection in the slump of his shoulders and feel it in how quickly he pulled his hand away. He watched as Flynn stood up and turned toward the tent.

"You knew it would be when you asked the question."

He lay still, listening to the sound of Flynn walking away from him, the rustle of the tent flap and the sharp, quick noise of the zipper being drawn. Neither of them believed that he could be what Flynn wanted. Tomorrow, they would go back to Zaphias. Monday, Flynn would move out. He'd get over it. He would find someone else.

Yuri tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the stars. He felt like the _idea_ of a song the way they came to him sometimes; vague and unformed, a tentative mood, a feeling he wanted to attempt to define. Niren was long gone but he'd finally been able to say goodbye. Flynn was leaving and Yuri wasn't as ready for that as he'd thought. So much had changed over the last few months. For the past several years, he'd worked to become—in his own way—someone that Niren would be proud of. He'd reached that goal, but what came next? A strange, hollow feeling crept over him as he watched the stars and wondered what it was that _he_ wanted.


	10. Stage Dive

A/N: Okay, so this is the official end of the Mix Tape timeline, however...I may or may not have started planning a couple bonus tracks with Hoskky. We'll see.

Hope you enjoyed the set! Thanks for reading! =D

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

The floor of Flynn's room was an obstacle course of cardboard boxes packed full of his things. Some stood open. Most were taped closed and hastily labeled. 'Books,' one said. A dire warning. It was a large box.

Hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, Yuri loitered in the doorway and stared at Flynn where he stood by the end of the bed, packing.

"You're really going?"

"It's best that I do."

"Explain to me how."

"I can't keep on pretending things are okay the way they are. I expected you of all people would understand that."

Reaching out with his foot, Yuri nudged one of the boxes. "Where are you going to be staying?"

"My aunt has offered me the use of her spare bedroom. She contacted me as soon as she'd heard what my mother had done. It seems like most of my extended family is on my side. They may even convince her to reconcile."

Yuri heard the hope in Flynn's voice and kept his opinion to himself. Instead, he asked: "Is this really going to make things easier?"

"Maybe. I don't know yet, but it's something I have to do in order to move on."

Yuri snorted.

"Whether you agree or not has no effect on my decision."

"What about Repede?" He whistled, and the dog came running from down the hall. Yuri dropped to kneel next to him, fingers ruffling his fur as he tilted Repede's face up toward Flynn. "How can you say no to this big puppy dog eye?"

"Yuri, enough. There's no use protesting now—it's too late. I am leaving tomorrow morning." He thrust a folded shirt into the bag he was packing and sighed. "Why are you even arguing with me about this?"

He hesitated. He knew he had no right to try and talk Flynn out of it, and called up a smirk, trying to play it off as a joke. "Maybe I'm going to miss you. Maybe I want you to stay." Getting to his feet, he patted Repede and sent him on his way.

Flynn stood up slowly, giving Yuri his full attention. "You could come with me."

"Hah! That'd go over well." As Flynn took a few steps forward to close the distance between them, Yuri held his gaze, held it even as Flynn backed him right up against the doorframe. "We've only been dating for a couple months. I don't think I'm quite ready to be presented at your all-important family reunion."

Warmth built between them, heightened as Flynn settled his hands on Yuri's hips. He was smiling now, a particular expression reserved for when the two of them were alone, and thank God for that, because it had the unfortunate power to turn Yuri's joints to jelly when used exactly right.

"My cousin said you were welcome to come along. I think he's a fan of your band, actually."

"Think I'll sit this one out. So…you gonna finish unpacking the stuff he liberated from the dragon lady's keep, or do you wanna keep me company for a while before you disappear for the weekend?"

"It won't even be the whole weekend." Quickly, he pressed forward for a brief kiss. "I'm driving up in the morning…" A second kiss. "…and I'll be back late Sunday afternoon." A third, lingering and outlasting its briefer precursors. When they broke apart, Yuri licked along the line of his jaw and nipped just below his ear. He smiled at the answering shiver as Flynn clutched him closer. "Suppose I could…take a break from unpacking…."

Grinning, Yuri dragged him down. They sated themselves with each other there on the floor, amid boxes filled with pieces of Flynn's old life, excavated and delivered by an extended family finally reaching out to him. With everything that now had to be unpacked, it was as if Flynn was moving in again. Between that and the decision Yuri had made that night during their camping trip two months ago, it was almost like they'd been given a fresh start.

The room felt cool afterward, enough that Flynn was eventually forced to pull the covers down off his bed to keep them warm. Yuri lay still on his back, staring up at the ceiling and laughing at himself for having been so afraid of letting things come to this point. It sure as hell didn't feel like a mistake. He was pleasantly drained, achy in the best sort of way, and drowsy. Flynn was draped over top of him, one arm across his chest and a leg between Yuri's. It still surprised him that he'd gotten a second chance, but it was what they'd both wanted, though it had taken a little more thought and a lot more time for Yuri to realize that.

He'd felt lighter ever since the camping trip. He wasn't the unwanted fuck-up he'd been when he'd first met Niren, and he wasn't the same impulsive teenager struggling to pull his life together. He was an impulsive _adult_, and somehow he'd achieved some of that potential Niren had seen in him. Finally, he'd found his worth.

He drifted, not quite dozing off, as time slipped away. After a while, Flynn stirred beside him and mumbled something about needing to finish packing his bags for the reunion. Softly, he kissed Yuri's shoulder and drew his arm back until his fingertips rested in the center of his chest. He stroked his foot against Yuri's ankle. Small movements to work up to going back to the task at hand.

"Dragon Swarm is going to record a CD."

"Mmm?" He slid further atop Yuri, kissing beneath his chin and up along the curve of his jaw.

"Crash knows a place we can get it done decently cheap."

He felt Flynn's hesitation, felt the press of nails against his chest where the soft pads of fingers had been. Crash remained a sore spot. He and Yuri had gone from friends to fuck buddies and back again without any fuss, but Flynn—for all that he said he didn't mind that they'd stayed friends—was still bothered by it. He didn't need to be, but he was, all the same. Lazily, Yuri lifted a hand, letting it come to rest on Flynn's head and ruffling his hair.

"Mostly, it's just to sell at our gigs, but...we figured it couldn't hurt to have a demo CD."

At that, Flynn's head shot up and he looked down at Yuri, wide-eyed. A grin tore across his face as his issues with Crash were forgotten. "Really? Yuri, that's wonderful! You're really going to pursue a career in music?"

Remembering that night outside Keiv Rock, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and his voice came out thick with disbelief. "You actually think I should?"

"You can't hold that against me forever. What songs are you putting on it? You ought to include that new one you've been working on. If you just tighten it up a bit so that the theme stays clear—"

"Don't get so excited. All I said was that it wouldn't hurt to have a demo. You know, just in case."

"Yuri..."

"Yeah, all right. I'm entertaining the notion." He met Flynn's eyes and seeing how honestly happy he'd been over the idea made the urge to laugh fizzle out. He dropped his gaze, following the lines of Flynn's body, shadowed beneath the drooping blanket. "Got a few entertaining notions, actually," he muttered, running a hand up Flynn's side.

Flynn caught his hand, brought it to his lips, kissed the calluses on his fingers, his palm, the inside of his wrist. An inch further up Yuri's forearm and he bit just hard enough to leave a few thin marks that would fade away long before they were through with each other. Yuri pulled him back down and rolled over to pin him, knocking into a box and tangling the sheet around their legs. He smirked over his victory, but in the next moment, Flynn reached up behind him and wound a hand in his hair, forcing him to bare his throat for a kiss with a hint of teeth. He let his attentions wander down the not-quite-straining tendons. Little nips along the way made Yuri flinch, driving them infinitesimally closer. He nibbled at the prominence of Yuri's collarbone, and Yuri knew he'd be as spotted as a dalmatian come the morning.

"Will you still give me symphony tickets when Dragon Swarm is famous?"

"You can open for me when I become a world renowned violinist."

He laughed, and the sound became a gasp as Flynn's grip on his hair tightened and he turned his attention back to Yuri's neck. Swallowing, he felt the sharpness of teeth graze either side of his Adam's apple. Rolling his hips drew a shudder from Flynn as they came together just right. Yuri wished he would sit the fuck up and stop wasting one hand bracing himself rather than putting it to good use. He felt Flynn's tongue dip into the hollow of his throat, and his voice rushed out on uneven breaths.

"We should go on tour together. Go abroad. Bet we'd put on an awesome show."

Now it was Flynn's turn to laugh, and his grip on Yuri's hair fell away as he finally sat up, forcing Yuri to rear back onto his knees. The warmth of Flynn's palms came to rest high up on the backs of his thighs, fingers softly kneading the delicate flesh between. His smile crinkled up his eyes.

"You've changed."

"This from the guy who once said I shouldn't quit my—!" Simultaneous pinches to the insides of his thighs made him break off with a groan.

"Shut up," Flynn said fondly. His touch explored, suggested, and parts of Yuri were sitting up and begging for him to continue in earnest. He ignored the hint. "I'm being serious. You're making plans for the future with me. Maybe they're a little farfetched, but still..."

"Don't read too much into it." He pressed forward to nip at Flynn's neck and murmured into his skin: "And stop looking at me like that."

Flynn laughed. "I can't be happy?"

"That was a little more than happy."

"Is that wrong?"

"I can _hear_ you smiling." It bothered him that Flynn wasn't allowing himself to be distracted, and Yuri caught his earlobe in his teeth, flicking his tongue ring playfully against it.

It didn't work.

"You're avoiding my questions."

He caught Yuri's hands before they could slip any further down his stomach and squeezed gently as he pulled back. His eyes were warm and clear, shining in a way that could still strike Yuri speechless after the looks he'd gotten from Flynn during their first months together. It was like looking at a totally different person, and although he knew angry Flynn was still in there somewhere, it took more to get a rise out of him these days. He was seeing more and more of Flynn's smiles: gleeful grins and mischievous smirks, playful quirks at the corners of his mouth, and the seductive, come hither stretch of his lips. Yuri had caught himself staring more times than he could count but…it was sort of nice to have someone who looked at him in all the ways Flynn did. Really nice, actually.

"Are you happy?" Flynn asked. His smile was warm and hopeful. He knew the answer already, or he ought to. He just wanted confirmation.

"Close," Yuri said. "You got the first and last letters right, anyway."

His laughing grin came out, white teeth between pink lips. "Yuri—!"

He surged forward to cut him off with a string of tender kisses and, if Flynn could read between the gentle press of lips and little pauses in-between where Yuri couldn't quite pull away, if he knew that there was some deeper feeling behind the light brush of Yuri's fingers over his cheek, then there was his answer. He must have understood well enough, because he pulled Yuri back down to the floor and didn't ask again. They would end the evening carpet burned and spent and together and, as Flynn curled close beneath the rumpled sheet and left an affectionate trail of kisses up Yuri's neck, something very like paradise was made of that small, cluttered room.


End file.
